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huntress-den · 5 months ago

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• ☽ THE HUNT ☾ •

The night of the summer solstice has arrived.

You and the other willing unmarked are sitting at the main burrow. Waiting. You were prepared by the elders of the Warren. You were bathed in salts and herbs and told to wear your scent proudly. Your hair was let loose and your body purified by the chanting and the burning sandalwood incense around you.

You can hear the rest of the Warren outside. They're laughing, chanting, and singing. You know they're marching to the bonfire. You know they're there to witness and cheer for what's about to come. You know it's too late to back down now. You ask yourself if you would, given the choice.

No time to think about it, the Head Omega and their handmaidens knock on the door. They enter and inspect you from head to toe along with the others. They ask if everything is ready, if this year's harvest can be presented to the Warren and its hunters.

The elders say yes. The time has come.

You're lined along with the other Omegas. Betas bearing flower crowns are brought in to escort you and your fellow Omegas to the festival. To make sure you're safe, 'til time comes you can't be anymore.

The Head Omega leads the procession along with their maidens. Your assigned Beta leads you gently behind them. At the procession's tail-end the Omegas elders that helped prepare you follow in line. Candles in hand for the goddess of fire, and prosperity and protection prayers on their lips in a sibilant wave of whimpering.

The crisp night air and your bare feet on the cold grass make you shiver. You can smell the smoke, you can see the light at the bottom of the slope.

Everyone is there. Faces adorned in the goddess's symbols and colours. They're dressed in their ritual clothing of the festival, green crowns of leaves on their heads contrasting with the vivid yellow one you are decorated with.

They're all excited to see you. This year's harvest was bountiful, the goddess has touched many Omegas to partake in their honour. The Warren is in favour and is blessed. You're a goddess-given gift to the Pack.

You look around. There's tables and more tables of food and drink, but no one is eating yet. Drums and a gong are a further back, but no one is playing yet. There's ribbons and flowers hanging from the frame around the site, swaying in the wind. And in the middle of it all is a tall, raging bonfire. The only light around. The only thing illuminating the dark forest that circles the festival. Your soon-to-be destiny.

Suddenly howling breaks from the crowd, your neck snaps in the direction they're all looking at. From the other side of the fire and down the opposite slope, in a similar procession to your own, are descending this year's hunters. Led by the Head Alpha and their first and second in command.

Unlike you though, they're led to the other edge of the bonfire. Away from the rest of the pack. Older Alphas keep a siege around the young hunters. Oppressing looks keeping their youngling in check. The hunters don't look up at you or any other Omega. You know they can't. You know they want to. You know this just fuels them further for the hunt.

They are trying their best to keep still. But you can see the lust coursing through their veins through the dancing hot air around the bonfire. You know it's like a rope pulled taught, about to snap as soon as the night truly starts.

After the Head Alpha and Head Omega announce the beginning of the festival and offer their blessings and wishes for this Year's participants and the Warren as a whole, your assigned Beta hands you a shallow dish with a colourful liquid. It smells and tastes funny. It makes your body buzz and your mind swirl a little. After you drink everything, your Beta leads you to the edge of the forest. They offer their blessings and wishes for a good match. They kiss your forehead and your hands and depart to join the crowd.

You're on your own now.

No more laughing or singing is coming from the pack. They're all waiting in anticipation. There's silence for a long while. The wind is making you shiver. You can feel the lingering eyes behind your back. The wait feels eternal.

The howling Head Alpha and Omega break the spell. It started. The hunt has begun and you need to run. Now.

You and the other unmarked Omegas are given a head start. The hunters wait back at the festival patiently, eyes cast down, as the forest veils your form. Howls from everyone in the Warren join the Heads of pack in a deafening call for savagery. The full moon is now your only guardian and the dark your only protection.

You run around in the blackened florest, bare save for the flower garlands adorning your hair, wrists and neck. You need to find somewhere to hide. You need to keep moving or any ordinary Alpha might catch up with you. You need to be nimble like a hare and clever like a fox. You need to outsmart your predators.

But your mind is swirling and your legs feel like stones tied to your hips. Every corner looks the same in the dark. You can't tell if you passed here already. If you're walking in circles or if you're far enough from the fire already.

The drums have been going back at the bonfire, you can hear them from afar. The starting gong rings, it vibrates down your spine. The hunters are released in the dark. Your time is up.

Alphas invade the forest. The shadows sway along the primitive rhythm of the music. Your breathing gets louder, your heartbeat floods your ears. It makes it difficult to tell apart the sounds of the night and the stalking of the hunters behind you.

You run for what feels like forever. More howls fill the night as the first of your kin are caught. You can't tell where you are. You can't tell how close they are to you. You don't know if the flowers around your neck are helping to hide you or just signaling where you are to all the moon-drunk Alphas hunting you down.

You run and run and without noticing you've reached a wall. The earth is too slippery to climb. There are no burrowing spaces around and the forest floor looks like a treacherous ocean of fallen trees. You don't know where to go. And just as you think you've found a narrow escape path you suddenly hear behind you: The snap of a twig on the floor. You've been found.

There's no time to think. You take your shot and run towards the path. You're fast. You're clever. You can outsmart them if you only continue running. It seems you'll make it, it seems you've lost them. But as you're running you're caught on the thick weave of roots on the hard-to-see floor. You fall. There's silence. You can't see anyone.

You try getting up and continue moving. But before you can get further, from behind a tree a hand snaps around your arm. Before you know what's going on your back is against the rough bark of the tree. Your wrists are being held above your head and the flowers around your neck are being ripped away by urgent teeth.

You struggle and fight with all your strength. You manage to land a kick on their gut. You scratch away with your claws when their hands loosen up, not caring what you catch in the process. Sliding away from them you try running again. But a strong hand slithers around your neck from behind. You're pulled tight against a solid unyielding body. Hands stuck, locked firm behind your back. Their other hand grabs your hair firmly, and tugs roughly to reveal your now exposed neck glands. This makes you whimper, and that in turn makes them growl. You can feel something warm dripping on your shoulder. It's the blood you drew from their face in your struggle. You can't tell if they're angry.

You wait for the bite to come at once. But it doesn't. Instead the Hunter just buries their nose in your glands. Taking in your chosen scent. Their teeth only graze your mating glands. Their hand detangles itself from your hair and travels down your chest, caressing it gently. This elicits a moan from you. They growl back again. Encouraged by your response, they circle your hips, and squeeze firmly. It feels like they're testing you. Studying you. Making sure you're ripe and ready. They don't bite still. As they lick your neck they seem to only care to take in your responses. You're shivering. You're hot. And when their surprisingly gentle hands travel further south, between your legs, you realise you're also dripping wet.

Your sopping parts are all they were looking for as confirmation. They bring you down to your knees with them still pressed hard against you. You can feel their arousal radiating from their body. They spread your legs as they drape their own body over your back. Forcing you in a presenting position. Their mouth finds its way to your ear.

"Ask for it" they whisper. You shake your head no. But your hips betray you as you press closer to them.

"Yield. It's done. Call for the hunter that earned you" They move their teeth back to your neck. Their canines prickling at your glands. Waiting patiently for your reply.

"Please" You beg. You are still deciding what you're begging for. Release or consummation.

"Clearer" they command.

You can't handle it anymore. Your hands hurt, their teeth are driving you crazy, and you never leaked so much in your life needing to be bred.

"Bind me" you cry at last.

And as their teeth sink into your neck, breaking the skin and spilling your blood on the earth. You know it is over. You've been caught. You've succumbed as the prey.

That's just the beginning, however.

The night is filled with your whimpers and moans as they bite you, kiss you and ravish you. Marking you with their fingers, their tongue, their mouth and their own leaking genitals. Shaping you into their perfect prize.

Your climax sobs mix themselves with their own possessive growls and the howls of the warren in the distance. You collapse tired and spent on the forest floor. You're nearly dozing off as your Alpha picks you up in their arms and carries you back to the festival.

The howling that welcomes you makes your head hurt. Your Alpha has you secured though. They take you to a bench closer to the fire, they sit with you on their lap still holding you tight. The warmth feels good on your sore body. They hand you a bowl of water and prod you to eat something. You don't want to eat, but they insist and so you do. You watch as other Omegas around the fire seem to be in similar positions. Some are already asleep. While the ones with more energy occupied themselves with more rounds of mating. Calling for the goddess and their new partner like their life depended on it.

You let yourself be lulled to sleep by the warmth of their body and the fire, the howling, moaning, laughing and music around you slowly fading into your brain like a single homogeneous call to oblivion.

"Rest, my Omega. I'll be here when you wake".

Before you can help yourself. Without thinking, the words slip from your lips. Naturally, like they've always belonged there. Like they'd always be uttered from then on.

"Yes, Alpha".

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benevolenterrancy · 9 months ago

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When Xie Lian and his bad luck stumbled in and broke that vase Hua Cheng thought his every prayer had been answered -- he now has an iron-clad excuse to keep Dianxia close, dress him in nice clothes, feed him nice food… ideal! He did not stop to calculate the fact that it would mean watching Xie Lian flirt with Literally Everyone. Except. Him. Yin Yu did caluclate this but no one listens to him.

additional Ouran AU thoughts...

yin yu gets more requests than you'd expect, specifically around exam season. he's just a pleasant, solid sort of person who handles people having exam stress breakdowns very well

he xuan is also here due to a debt he refuses to elaborate on. he could have paid it back already but he quickly realized the best food on campus is here and eats enough to dig himself deeper and deeper in debt

50/50 shot if you'll find shi qingxuan as male or female, it's a real lottery for guests that have a preference

feng xin and mu qing are both here. they are not prepared to meet xie lian again after all these years, especially not in this context. he is REALLY not prepared to meet them like this either. he'd prefer no dress, thanks.

what on god's green earth is feng xin doing in a host club when he can't handle women At All? everyone would like to know this. the only reason hua cheng hasn't kicked him out is because he finds his discomfort HILARIOUS

pei ming is a VERY enthusiastic guest to the general dismay of every host. lately though he's been having a good time eating snacks and watching hua cheng and xie lian circle around each other in a very pathetic and no-at-all-subtle way. ho ho.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #ouran high school host club #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #shi qingxuan #he xuan #yin yu #beefleaf #shi qingxuan will always be determined to get his friends to play with gender with him and ouran has gnc baked into its dna #my art

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marigold-hills · 4 months ago

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Dunes & Waters, part 39

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

There's a courtyard. Sun-bleached, limestone-pale. In the middle of it a square, ornate pond. The water is shallow. A single red lotus flower grows in the middle like a drop of blood in the stillness.

A woman wades through the water. From the richness of her skin to the way she moves, everything about her is stated affluence. She wears a dress so white and sheer each line of her body can be seen. She looks to where she’s watched, and says: “im(i) Hr.k, Í mry.t,”. Pay attention, my beloved.

She holds a pair of golden scissors and cuts the stem of the flower. Picks up the bloom with open, outstretched fingers, careful not to bruise the petals. Murmurs soft words and it levitates next to her, follows as she steps out of the water, onto the stone ground, where in a sunken divot logs are stacked up and burning. Atop them, a copper bowl, the metal softly steaming.

Pay attention.

She holds a vial of clear liquid and pours it into the hot bowl. It hisses as it hits the surface, bubbles up immediately. When it calms down, she picks up a branch. It’s thorny. The leaves are green and lush. She rips them off with deft fingers and throws them into the boiling liquid.

May you live, she says, as a warm, honey-filled scent raises from the bowl, “ȧmȧ ānkh.ek,”. The leaf-free stick she uses to stir it, three times in the way the sun raises, five times as it sets.

She takes off a necklace and there’s a lock of hair braided into the cord. Unpicks it. Adds the hair (black, curled) into the bowl. Stirs it again, watches with hawk-eyes that it doesn’t boil.

“Uaḥ-tep-tah,” she says once she’s finished stirring. Live long life on earth.

Plucks the lotus flower from the air. It’s beautiful, flawless, perfection in the spiral of leaves. Hands brought together as if in prayer she crushes the petals into pulp. Throws it into the simmering liquid.

“wnn pt wnn.T xr.i.”

As long as the sky exists, you will exist within me.

The potion turns a sunset red. She places the wood she used for stirring into it, and it floats on the surface, turns in lazy circles.

There’s a clay pitches by the pond and she fills it with its water, uses it to douse the flames. The potion she tips into a glass vial and corks it.

Do this on a day of new moon, she says, and use when it’s next full.

The memory fades. She smiles wide, with teeth. NOTES:

Í mry.t is the female version of “my beloved” :) just a little hidden thing

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

@arasael

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #fanfic #dead gay wizards #remus x sirius #marauders era #dunes and waters

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hyakinthou-naos · 5 months ago

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Hyakíntha Ritual: The Heortē

1. Ceremonial Garments

As we celebrate the resurrection of Prince Hyacinthus, we adorn ourselves in clothing that reflects our joy and celebration. Jewelry and adornments that honor Prince Hyacinthus and Lord Apollo are worn in abundance as an outward symbol of our joy. Warm shades of oranges, yellows, and whites remind us of the God of Prophecy - and cooler shades of greens and purples remind us of the Spartan Prince.

2. Khernips & Purification

Following the days events, we don our garments and parade to The Temple. We reach the steps and ramps of The Temple's entrance, both adorned with hyacinths, sunflowers, lavender, and larkspur. The Temple's doors are opened wide, music playing from within

The entrance chamber holds a bowl of water where flaming leaves of bay and laurel have been extinguished. The water splashes as we joyfully wash our hands in the lustral water, cleansing ourselves before we enter The Temple's center.

3. Gathering at the Altar

We proceed into The Temple's center; the music still playing softly as we enter. The altar is positioned in the center of the room, behind which stands the Temple's Steward - dressed in robes of purple. Chairs and pillows for seating are arranged in a semi-circle in front of the altar.

We take our seats

4. Opening Prayer & Deity Invocation

We settle into our chosen seats, as the music and conversations slowly fade away. The Steward stands behind the altar and lights the center candle, and speaks:

Hestia, great goddess of the ancients - Daughter of the Titans Cronus and Rhea - She who is honored before all others. We gather here today and ask that you accept this flame, as a humble offering to you. Hestia, goddess of hearth and home Lead our way, and light our path.

The Steward then moves to light the second candle, and raises their arms to the heavens, saying:

Lord Apollo, shinning god of light and prophecy Son of Lord Zeus and Lady Lêta Lover of Hyacinthus, for whom we celebrate today O bright and shining Lord, we ask that you accept this flame and grace us with your presence. We call upon you today, great god of music and healing, to bare witness to our ritual - as we celebrate the return of your love, the beautiful Hyacinthus, Prince of Sparta. May Lord Hermes carry these words from our lips, to your ears, on mighty Mount Olympus. Du et des, we give so you may give.

Lastly, the Steward moves to light the third candle and the ceremonial incense, and raises their arms to the heavens, saying:

O Hyacinthus, noble prince of Sparta, Son of Amyclas and Diomede, brother of Polyboia Beloved of Apollo, the divine son of Zeus O strong yet gentle Prince, we ask that you accept these offerings of flame and incense - and be with us today We call upon you, radiant prince of blooming flowers, to bear witness to our ritual - as we celebrate your return into the arms of your beloved. May Lord Hermes carry these words from our lips, to your ears, in the heavens where you live forever more.

5. Hymns & Music

As the Steward concludes their prayer, they open a book sat behind the altar - The Temple's book of hymns. The pages turn as the Hytheria settles on a passage, and begins to read:

A Hymn for Hyacinthus [Altered Version]

Oh to the lover of our Lord We see you in every shade of lavender We feel you in every warm spring breeze We understand you every time lovers look into each others eyes. How did he look - the Lord of the Muses - When you ran your fingers through his hair? How did it feel? To touch the sun To feel its warmth Oh how we envy you Oh how we honor you Oh how we rejoice in you Oh lover of our Lord

We Are For You; a Hymn to Lord Apollo [Altered Version]

Lord Phoebus He who shines light into our darkness, He who brings music to our souls. Who would we be without your graces? Who would we be without your love? Oh sweet Lord of all we hold dear - You have been with us - all the days of our lives Waiting patiently for our devotion. And we are here- Knees bent, Eyes closed, Heart open. We are for you, Lord Apollo - We are for you.

The Steward finishes his reading, placing the book back from whence it came, and arranges for the music to begin. Before starting the music, the Steward speaks:

I invite you all to listen to this music, and think of Lord Apollo, and Prince Hyacinthus. Think of how their love, though interrupted by fate, is everlasting. Think of how their dedication to each other is not diminished by their loving of others. Love is boundless, it is joy and lust and adventure - but it is also work and struggle and pain. All that is, is imperfect, even the Gods. Love is imperfection; love exists in multitudes; love is the power we feel here today.

While today we celebrate romantic love, platonic love is just as powerful - and love need not be romantic to be worth the effort.

I invite you all, in the center of this room or from the seats which you have chosen, to dance and be joyful. For today we celebrate love - in all its many forms.

Music begins to play, and the Steward joins the congregation in a dance of youthful joy.

6. Libations

As the music concludes, and the dancers return to their seats, the Steward places a large ceremonial bowl in the center of the participants. The Steward then returns with glasses filled with liquid, giving one to each of those in attendance. The Steward stands in front of the altar and speaks:

In honor and reverence of the ancient ways, we hold before us a libation of milk and water. As we pour these libations, we offer them to Prince Hyacinthus, and Lord Apollo. They who bring us joyous spring, they who show us unending love, they who hold our hands through sorrow - we offer this to them.

We all pour our libations into the center bowl, the liquids swirl and splash, as they all come together as one in the bowl's center.

7. Divination

[Ritual attendees/participants are encouraged to engage in their own personal divination with Prince Hyacinthus and/or Lord Apollo at this time.]

8. Closing Prayers

As the pouring of the libations concludes, the Steward returns to behind the altar. The Steward takes a moment to pause, before speaking:

With joy and laughter, with awe and amazement We conclude this evening rite We give thanks to radiant Lord Apollo, God of music and medicine And his beloved, Prince Hyacinthus, whose beauty and spirit are once again alive Lord Apollo, glorious archer, we thank you for your guiding light, For the wisdom and strength you gift to us, And for the music that stirs our hearts May you continue to inspire and protect us We give thanks to Prince Hyacinthus, he who is noble and pure We honor your return and celebrate you ascension to the heavens Your life, a testament to beauty - a beacon in the darkness, a refuge in the storm May your story echo within us, Reminding us of fleeting life and eternal love

The Steward raises their arms to the heavens, and once again speaks:

May the blessings of Apollo and Hyacinthus Guide us our paths, fill our hearts with joy, And guide us in harmony and peace.

The Steward lowers their arms and extinguishes the second candle, before speaking for a final time:

Hestia, first -

The Steward blows out the center candle.

- and last

And with that, the ritual is concluded.

#Hyakíntha Ritual: The The Heortē #Hyakíntha #Hyakintha #Hyakintha Ritual #The Temple of Hyacinthus #Lord Hyacinthus #Hyacinthus #Lord Apollo #Apollo #Textpost #HelPol #Hellenic Polytheism #Hyakintha Day 2

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hanayori89 · 7 months ago

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Full Circle

*Ordon Village*

Link continued to fiddle with his green hat. He admired the way it was coming apart at the seams, much like himself. He should have left it in Kakariko with Y/N's dress.

Link sat on his bed. At an absolute loss, he recognized he could only stall for so long. With or without Zelda urging him to do so, he knew he must listen to the shadow.

Zelda. That was the other problem. How would he break free and meet her at the Temple of Time?

Hylia, please help me. Link bowed his head in prayer. The back of his hand began to sear with a familiar prickling sensation. He looked at his Triforce, hoping to see its scintillating golden glow of guidance, yet it remained dull. Once again, Hylia had ignored his prayers.

"Link." Ilia's voice drifted from his doorframe. He knew, from the alluring way in which she spoke, what it was she desired. She stood before him in nothing but her undergarments.

Link automatically seized his face in between his hands.

"I-Ilia- " he floundered as he thought of another way to stall.

"Shh. Talking time is over. Why are you still dressed?" A devious grin that could eat him whole possessed her. "No matter. I'll undress you."

Before Link was aware of anything more, he felt the crushing weight of her straddling him. He scrunched his eyes closed. For the first time, he was a helpless civilian being overpowered by an assailant.

She's so fast. And heavy. This shadow is completely overtaking her. I wonder if there is any Ilia left in there.

"Ilia!" Link shouted. Her face floated above his as her hands roamed every inch of his body in search of his belt. A satisfying growl escaped her lips as she viciously pulled it off. The only thing Link could think of during this assault was Y/N. Again, the smell of her hair resided on his pillow. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be transported to Renado's home, where the soft glow of the moon hugged her frame as she lay beside him.

He thought of her softened e/c eyes studying his lacerations as she cleaned them.

"Yes. Because it was my first kiss, it was special. Even more so because it came from you."

He thought of the majesty of Y/N's lips.

Only now it was Ilia's lips swamping his own. He tried to fight against her, restraining her wrists and momentarily overpowering her. It proved to be futile, however. The more he resisted, the more forceful the shadow became.

He had to know if Ilia was still in there somewhere. Was there still a chance she could be saved? Or was he about to be violated by a demon wearing Ilia's flesh as a costume?

He managed to restrain her once more. "Ilia! Please! This isn't you! What if I was Epona? Would you ever treat Epona this way?"

"Epona?" A spark of life returned to the dead, pale blue of her eyes. She paused atop Link, Epona's name loading on her blank face. Link had hit a nerve. She was still in there.

"Yes, Epona. The ride home was the most interaction she's had with you, Ilia. She misses you. I miss you." Link's sincerity radiated nothing but the raw truth. He did miss Ilia. She was family to him. All this ugliness was not the Ilia he knew. This wickedness belonged to the decrepit shadow who was extinguishing the light in Ilia's soul.

Piece by piece.

Bit by bit.

"Link, I..." Her voice was a feeble plea.

"Fight it, Ilia. You must fight it." Link begged. He could feel his Triforce react to the energy of evil in between them. Link casually tossed a glance at the back of his hand. What was going on? He could feel it burning his flesh; nevertheless, it remained lackluster.

"Looking for something?" A course, gravelly voice rolled out of Ilia's mouth without the movement of her lips. Her blue irises became subservient to the jaundice overtaking her eyes. She began to weep streams of foul-smelling puss. As if by electrocution, she jolted upright, rolling her eyes in the back of her head.

"Ilia!" Link roared with anguish at the sight of his friend physically being dismantled before him. With all the strength he could muster, he managed to push Ilia and tackle her onto the floor. He pinned her down, but his strength was no match for the demonic entity breaking loose.

"GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!" Link kept screaming hopelessly. The more hysterical he became, the more delight the shadow took. Its deranged laugh scraped against his eardrum like nails ripping into flesh.

"AHAHAHA! What are you carrying on about, boy? Like you care. You're too busy fawning over that pathetic half-breed, Twili. Do you think what I'm doing to your little friend hurts her now? Imagine the hurt she'll feel when she learns you're in love with someone else. One of me, for that matter. Her suffering makes no difference to me. Just some food for thought."

Half-breed?

Swiftly, the shadow returned to its role of dominance. It took one of its fingers, brashly shoving Link off. He went flying into the wall of his room. His back slammed against it with such force that, for a moment, he thought he heard the shattering of one of his vertebrae. He slid down the wall; the shock of the impact rendered him silent.

And ashamed.

He couldn't win.

Link didn't bother looking up. He could feel the shadow standing over him. The repugnant fluid pouring from its eyes was now at a heavier flow. It spilled over his head like a bucket of ice water, christening him in its evil. The stench of decay was like sulfur in his lungs. He covered his nose as he sat submissively before the shadow.

"Look at you. Pitiful. Where is your goddess now? Where is she in your time of need? That pathetic scribble on your hand won't save you. Nor will your goddess."

It lifted its leg, which was still Ilia's, or human, rather, and stepped on Link's stomach. It pressed down slightly, causing him to lurch forward, clamoring for air. "Agh!" Link gasped. It continued to step down further. It grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to stare into its vacant eyes.

"And you're the one who saved Hyrule. What trash. Are you going to listen to me now, or must I go through this again?"

The air around Link became scarce. He decided that passing out would be the humane path for himself. He would not give this shadow the gratification it wanted. He'd let it squash his ribcage if it must. The shadow grew visibly more impatient, stepping down with more force on his stomach.

He didn't even want it to have the satisfaction of his pain. He let out a small whimper. "Nrgh..."

"Rude boy. I said..."

"Hello, Link? Anyone home?"

Renado's voice poured throughout his home, providing Link with a break from the abuse. The shadow scoffed, "You have a guest! Get rid of him!"

Link let out a gentle wheeze. Why was Renado here? He couldn't bear for another friend of his to be destroyed by this entity. Hylia forbid, was Luda with him?

"Link? Are you alright? I must excuse myself; I am coming up." He could hear Renado's purposeful footsteps approach. The shadow hissed. "Pests! This isn't over, Link!" It ran towards Link's window, unlatching it and perching on the windowsill. Its head rotated around, so it could stare at him.

"Remember my warning. Don't go near Y/N. Unless you want to hang her head as a decoration." Ilia's blue irises dropped back into her eyes. The weeping retracted, flowing back into the passage of her eye sockets. It snapped its head forward and leapt into the night.

Renado appeared in Link's doorway. "Link!" He quickly trotted towards him, kneeling down at his side. "That smell. The darkness I sensed. It's here, isn't it?"

Link couldn't find his voice. Renado helped Link to his feet, assisting him onto his bed. Once Link sat, he cradled his sore stomach. He managed to mutter, "Luda?" He didn't see the little girl anywhere in sight.

"She's at Beth's. She wanted to stay there for tonight. I came here to deliver Y/N's dress."

Y/N's name was like another blow to his stomach, causing him to suck his breath in and double over in pain.

"Rest. Let me see, do you have ice? Bandages? You look like you're in bad shape, my friend." Renado got up, making his way into Link's bathroom in search of anything he could use to help quell his pain.

"Paper and pen."

"Forgive me, Link; I don't quite understand. Do you need to write to communicate with me?"

"Yes." Link was afraid to say Y/N's name. He wasn't sure where the shadow was. He needed to pull himself together to get to Zelda.

It was one thing to let himself down, but he would not let anymore of his friends down. He refused. He stared again at the stillness of his Triforce. Why wasn't it responding to him? It appeared to Link that beyond the Sacred Grove, he would also be making another pilgrimage through the Temple of Time.

The time for the Master Sword was at hand once again. But would the Master Sword respond to him? Even if the Triforce seemed to ignore his every cry for help?

There was another troubling thought. What did the shadow mean when it called Y/N half-breed?

Link felt the air slightly return to his lungs. He rocked back and forth like he had the day he held Y/N at Lake Hylia. Everything was so convoluted.

All Link knew was at his core; he missed Y/N. So much so, he wasn't sure if it was the pain from the stomping of the shadow or the pain from her absence that stole his breath away.

What must she think in this silence? I will continue to fight for us. Even if Hylia has abandoned me.

Even if the Triforce has abandoned me.

Even if... the Master Sword abandons me.

Renado returned with a pen and paper, setting it next to Link.

"Renado, I will tell you all I know. But you must swear to keep everything to yourself. I must ask another favor of you. Can you deliver the dress to Telma along with this letter I'm writing?" Renado's eyes flickered at the mention of Telma. Link caught onto his silent apprehension.

"I will give you anything, Renado. Please. I will repay you tenfold. I'm begging you. Give this to her." Link choked out "her" in resentment. He couldn't even say Y/N's name out of fear that it would provoke the shadow to go after her.

Renado didn't understand what was going on, but the awry environment was enough to make him compliant with Link's request. "Do you wish to see the dress before I go?"

Link felt a sob get caught in the weak cavity of his chest. "I wish to see her in the dress." He whispered morosely. Link handed Renado the letter he wrote for Y/N.

Renado gave Link a pained expression as he accepted the letter. "Are you sure you don't need anything?"

I need to get rid of that damned shadow. Link shook his head. "Thank you, Renado."

Renado made his way out of Link's room. Before departing, he left Link with one message.

"Well, we have come full circle, friend. Only your letter won't be received with rejection."

Link wasn't so sure.

Edited: 6/2/24

Things have indeed come full circle. Has everything up until this point even been Ilia's fault? Or was it the dark entity that has found residence in the home of her body?

With Link in a weaker state than his hero days, can he defeat the evil within Ilia and protect his best friend, princess, and true love?

Or has Hylia decided his days as designated hero are over?

Check out my other completed OOT Zelda work- No Woman Beyond

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blueflyingturtleontheway · 3 months ago

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Til sunrise

Word count: 847

Fandom: Lolirock

Characters: Talia, Amaru

Other: Pre-Canon, continuation of episode 6 - Xeris, angst, abandonment, optimistic ending

Created for the first prompts of @whumptober and #lolirocktober (prompts here and here)

She never realised just how cold the castle walls were, but now, hidden by a broken passage, she could feel the chill seeping in through her thin dress. She was still trembling, even when she ran out of tears to cry.

She watched her own reflection in the dark crystal until it got too dark to see anymore, and then she just stared into the blank night. She didn't remember the nights ever being this dark. Was it another spell of Gramorr's? If he could cover the ground with dark crystals, maybe he did something to the sky too? Or it was simply the smoke.

She coughed with another breath and the sound echoed through the empty rooms- ruins. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand. She listened. Her body was tense and she repeated Crystal Collidum in her mind, to execute it perfectly if she had to protect herself. She regretted not remembering any more spells.

Finally after minutes or hours she let her guard down. It was slowly getting brighter and she was now sure that there wasn't anyone but her around. At least not a living soul.

She closed her eyes when she caught a glimpse of another translucent figure with the corner of her eye. She was cold, she was lonely and she was scared. But the darkness under her eyelids was more pleasant than the darkness around her and she finally admitted to herself that above all, she was tired.

She shot up after what felt like mere seconds. Her heart was racing and her eyes darted around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Why was she sleeping on the ground...?

As soon as her gaze fell on the dark crystal before her, the horrors of last night came back to her. She felt a new wave of tears flood her eyes and she hid her face in her knees to at least not have to look at herself as she cried. It would only remind her that there's nobody here to comfort her.

Suddenly, through her own sobs she heard something that filled her both with hope and fear. It was a voice.

"Over there! Can you hear it too?" It was coming from above, from where the main hall used to be.

"The little guy seems to, at least. You really think someone would be here so soon after the attack?" There were more of them.

She pushed herself into the corner and tried to hold her breath but then she felt like suffocating, which would only make her breath more loudly, which would definitely make them hear her, and suddenly she was barely able to breath at all.

The sound of many footsteps was getting closer and she could now distinguish the sound of soft paws on stone among them.

Did Gramorr come back to get her too? Was it Banes?

She squeezed her sister's amulet in one hand and extended the other, trying to calm down enough to summon her magic circle.

"Everyone be ready. It's probably just a looter but..."

But how was she supposed to be calm? Her heart was louder than the patter of the approaching paws.

Her circle flickered and went out and so did her hope. Was he going to eat her? Did Banes eat princesses? Did he eat Izira too?

She clutched the amulet with both hands and squeezed her eyes shut, repeating in her mind all the prayers to the good stars for someone - for her sister - to come save her.

But she didn't feel sharp teeth bite into her flesh, or vicious claws tear her apart. Instead, something soft rubbed over her leg.

She risked opening her eyes.

A pair of big green eyes looked back at her.

She's never actually seen Banes, but she knew it couldn't be him. Banes was giant, could breath fire and was very, very evil. And this little puff of white and purple fur couldn't be evil in the slightest.

It put its paws on her knees and moved closer to sniff her. Its wet nose touched hers and it sneezed, knocking itself over in the process. Talia giggled.

"So who do we have here, little guy?" A pair of boots came into her view and a man bent down into her hiding spot. "Oh. Hello there."

Talia recoiled and her hands went back to the amulet.

The man instinctively reached for her but then stopped and instead put his hands up so she could see that he was unarmed. He knelt down far enough for her not to feel cornered but - as she realised when she was finally brave enough to look at him again - still close enough to obscure the horrible dark crystal.

"Hey, it's alright, we're not here to hurt you." He smiled gently. "You're safe now, the rescue mission is here."

The purple puff climbed back into her lap and Talia finally allowed herself to pet it. It was soft and she was starting to believe that perhaps the man was actually telling the truth.

#whumptober2024 #no.1 #search party #blue's writing #lolirock #lolirock talia #talia princess of xeris #amaru #amaru lolirock #lolirocktober #whumptober #every now and then i remember that talia came back to see her childhood home destroyed and her family gone #after what was supposed to be her last carefree night #and then continued to blame herself for it for the following 10 years #and i go a little insane #also writing this i remembered that she can see the dead so uh #it mustve been especially fucked up for her to sit there right after a ton of people were killed there :)#also her parents are never mentioned again after this one instance where she calls for them after coming back to the palace #while izira was seen as the strongest protector #which would imply that for some reason they werent able to fight and protect their daughters :)#and talia never speaks of saving her parents only her sister #i wonder if they were killed and she saw their ghosts while sitting among the ruins of her home :)#why is this show so messed up #whumptober 2024

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vishnavishivaa · 4 months ago

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VaasudevaVasudaa Chapter 1: A Deciding Wish

This book will have only three main POVs: Krishna, Rukmini and Satyabhama. This story is a retelling of Their story, without distorting the main events of Harivamsa and Mahabharata.

********

She had awakened before the Sun rose.

Now wrapped in Her comfortable green saree, Satyabhama sat on the cool balcony floor, gazing at the East, waiting for the Sun to rise, a kundala next to Her. She was waiting to do Surya Puja, and had been up earlier than usual, though Her habit was to arise before the Sun dawned completely.

In fact, Satyabhama rarely slept for a long time, which had been the case since She was a seven year old girl, and had decided that She had to gain Knowledge of anything and everything that existed, triggering Her journey into the sacred scriptures of Sanatana Dharma, each of which, along with various other skills, were taught to Her by Guru Garga and his disciples, all of whom resided in Mathura.

The restlessness of Nature was ever present in the pores of Her body, Satyabhama knew, as She stood up, swaying with the pre-dawn wind, which caressed Her gently, curly strands of hair gently escaping the loose plait that ran down Her back, settling to frame Her face, as if leaves that protected the blooming flower. She did not move the position of the stray curls, rather, letting them take their own course, more interested in the start of sounds, the awakening of animals coming together with the slow rise of the Sun.

The large ball of fire never rose at once, rather choosing to first cast its rays into the dark Sky before slowly rising, indicating that Purusha followed Prakriti, for the Sun’s rays were often likened to Harini, Hari the Sun Himself.

Smiling gently, She grabbed the kundala She had placed on the floor, now standing almost on Her tiptoes, bouncing in happiness as the Sun rose.

Closing Her eyes and pouring the water in the small golden vessel, She started Her prayers, easily flowing through Her usual prayers of welcome and greeting, the Aditya Hrudhayam included in Her prayers, a feeling of familiarity washing over Her, though Her heart was focused on the wish that She was going to request of the Yadava Sabha that day.

It was a big and important day, and She knew that only with the Universal God by Her side would She achieve Her goal.

***

“Sakhi Satyabhama, do you have to proceed with this plan?” asked Madhavi, gently folding the pallu of Satyabhama’s saree, as Satyabhama adjusted the brooch that Her mother had given, which was a elegant peacock pin at the junction of Her neck and shoulder, ensuring the cloth was tightly wrapped around Her, refusing to let anyone outside Her close circle see Her in anything but the neatest dressed form of Herself.

“I do, Madhavi,” Satyabhama smiled at Her friend, both grateful and reassuring, understanding the worry of Her friend. She knew well that if Satyabhama continued with the plan, Her existence will be known in a broader way throughout Aryavarta, which might cause more complications than Satyabhama frankly needed, owing to Her continuous wish to learn more, as well as very sharp intellect, which could easily see everything in a piercing way that was rarely seen amidst the Yadavas. Satyabhama continued, “From what I have heard of Devakinandan, He is very very appreciative of women and their wishes, as well as accepts them with sincerity. Taara Bhagini, who is His sister, says so, as does Sushila, who has been in love with Him since She has seen Him. And you know how much I trust both, given that They never embellish anything They tell me, come what may. That, put together with the opinion of every Yadava, including Pitashree and Jyeshta Bhrata, as well as a very powerful feeling of trust that is shooting through my heart, I believe that Vaasudeva Krishna will listen to my plea, and mostly accept my wish.”

“It is true that He does have a particularly unbiased opinion, and has been hailed by every single Yadava. But..”

“Madhavi, I can understand your worry,” Satyabhama reached out to pat Her close friend’s hand, gently holding as well, giving Madhavi strength. “But I am confident. Additionally, Pitashree and Bhrata agreed to my wish as well, and will be helping in this process.”

“But what about the chieftains of the Kula, Satyaa?”

“They are Yadavas, are they not, Madhavi?”

Satyabhama did not want to believe that Her elders would protest this wish of Hers, though it did sound much more practical than Her confidence that She would get to do as She had hoped. However, She also felt that the Yadava Kula is very understanding of the equal power of the Feminine as compared to the Masculine, which is why they believed that women deserved the same opportunities as men. Of course, Kamsa was not of the same thought, for he treated women horribly, even if he gave his now widows a lot of freedom.

Which could also be due to who their father was, Satyabhama mused, Her face darkening. She sighed when Madhavi looked at Her in worry, smiling small to reassure Her.

“Just thinking about the reason this has to be done, Madhavi. Indirectly, at least.”

“But Sakhi,” Madhavi said. “We all worry that your future will get complicated if the truth of your skills comes out.”

“My skills are not hidden among the Yadavas, Sakhi,” Satraajiti replied. “They may not be discussed, but they are well known. Pitashree personally has informed the King about it, and the King has also graciously accepted them. There is no need to fret.”

“But do the others know every detail?”

“Even I do not know the entire details yet, Madhavi,” Satyabhama said, sitting down on the settee, patting the seat next to Her for Madhavi, who gingerly sat down, though her eyes gleamed with curiosity. Smiling, the daughter of Satrajit continued, feeling Her face expand as She spoke.

“My powers could be because I was not born of the womb,” Satyabhama said softly, looking at Madhavi. “I was found in a Lotus, a thousand petalled one, no less, by Pitashree. One found in the Yamuna, floating like it was meant to be there.”

“A thousand petalled Lotus is said to be present only for the most special of people, Sakhi,” Madhavi said after some moments of silence, as she now seemed to try and read Satyabhama’s every pore, something that had not been possible to anyone who was not Taara or Sushila before.

“To me, it is Hari’s blessing that I am how I am,” Satyabhama whispered, standing up and tucking Her dagger into Her waistband, shaking Her head mildly at Her friend’s partially disapproving look.

“What if..”

“I will manage, Sakhi,” Satyabhama said firmly, a confidence boost that held the power of the Universe entering Her. She could feel Her entire form being enveloped by a glow, a glow that She felt indicated the peak of the Divine Feminine. With a soft smile and half hug at Her childhood friend, Satyabhama walked out of the chambers, confident in stride, like a lioness and protectress, Her only aim being to reach Her father’s court, ready to go to the Yadava Sabha with him.

******

“Are you sure, little sister?”

Satyabhama huffed playfully, looking at Bhangakkara, whose face held both protectiveness and resignation. She giggled, especially seeing the latter emotion, knowing that he had already known that She would continue with Her plan, something She had come up with during a spontaneous discussion, everything ironed out in less than half a prahara.

“I am Bhrata,” She smiled gently, patting his arm, their father smiling affectionately at the banter. She continued softly, “Madhavi addressed her worries as well. She believes my life might get complicated after this.”

“I know you can manage it, my child,” Satraajita said. “But I want you to be sure to proceed, Satyae.”

Satyabhama looked at Her father, smiling at the nickname.

Satyae.

Truth.

“I am, Pita,” She smiled, feeling happiness fill Her. She gently took his mildly weathered hand in hers, squeezing it with utter love, giving him a boost of confidence, which reflected on his face.

“If there is something I am proud of, that we are proud of, it is that you are part of our family,” Satraajita said, gladly holding on to Satyabhama’s hand. “That is why we are all very protective of you.”

“That, and my powers as well, which only seem to expand,” She divined, a small smile gracing Her face to show Her father that She was in no way offended.

“Satyaa,” Bhangakkara started, looking sheepish when She shot a sweet smile at him. He picked up his words, saying, “We know you are capable of taking care of yourself. But you are the eldest jewel of this family, and it is due to Your coming that we were blessed with the births of Vratini and Praspavini.”

Satyabhama smiled again, this time a soft, delicate thing, which brought out the inner elegance of Her very self. She could feel the Sun’s rays flitting through the curtains, gently touching the tip of Her hair, lighting it brightly, the smile that was already present on Her face widening. She lightly touched the tip and turned to Her brother.

“Bhrata, I understand your protectiveness. But it has to be me, does it not? The Yadavas can easily hold their own against Jarasandha, and I have no doubt that the two sons of YaduShiromani Vasudeva can easily fight and win against the King of Magadha’s armies, as they easily have done these past fourteen times. But would it not help the Yadavas if there are more warriors?”

“You are a fourteen year old, Satyaa.”

“How does that make a difference if I have the skill to fight, Bhrata?” She persisted, nodding back when he nodded in acceptance at Her words.

“Satyaa, I agree that you will be one of the biggest assets on our side, which is why I agreed to your proposal without much argument,” to which Satyabhama smiled acceptingly, remembering Her brother’s quickly accepting nature, when he let Her make Her own choices, though he did make valid points, which She had thought of before making Her plan.

“I am just overprotective,” Bhangakkara said. “Mainly because you are well known by name and nature through ear rather than actual sight. While the Yadavas know that you are indeed Satraajiti, your training has not made it easy for anyone to see you. Vratini and Praspavini, on the other hand, do know and are known by the Yadavas by sight as well. They have even met Vaasudeva Krishna.”

Krishna.

Satyabhama had to stop Herself from involuntarily shivering, His name sending a thrill that She had never experienced before through Her body. Every time She heard His name, She felt as if Her own Soul sang a song of emotions to Him, a song that She seemed to know from the get go, and yet a song Her conscious did not seem to understand. She had never met Him officially.

She had seen Him before He broke the Shiva Dhanusha, and had later, once…

She forced Her thoughts down, before She could go down that memory, which would make Her blush, redder than a hibiscus at its healthiest.

“And they do like Him,” She responded instead, patting Her father’s palm, which were clenched in worry for his girls. She looked at Satrajita, and softly said, “Pita, they are still young. Do not worry so much.”

“But they are my girls, like you are, Satyae.”

“While that is true, even you have told me multiple times of the pure goodness that comes from Devakinandan. So why are you worried? I doubt that He would hurt them in any way, whether He reciprocates their sweet affection or not.”

Satyabhama did not say more on the matter, not wanting Her father to get even more protective. She knew well, from the lyrical waxing of Krishna’s miracles from Her sisters, that They were well in the journey of loving Him, the man called the Enchanter.

Do not go into that thought process, Satyabhama, She chided Herself mentally, forcing down the memory that came to Her fore once more, not wanting to think of it just yet.

Which was ironic, considering She was going to meet Him once more, this time officially, in front of the entire Yadava Sabha.

“You are right, as always, Satyae,” Satrajita said, moving forward. “Come, my children. It is time for us to head to the royal palace.”

*******

There is a ton of symbolism in this series, which will have indications of why it is so.

@ahamasmiyodhah @mahi-wayy @yehsahihai @theramblergal @krsnaradhika @ramayantika @achyutapriya @thegleamingmoon @nidhi-writes @houseofbreadpakoda @hum-suffer @kanhapriya @kaal-naagin @krishna-priyatama @willkatfanfromasia @celestesinsight @arachneofthoughts @idllyastuff The first chapter is a bit late, but it is up! Do let me know what you all think!

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chromiumagellanic06 · 9 months ago

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The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 10: A Wedding

MASTERLIST

Summary: A wedding. A joust. Some simping.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: nothing, really

The Sept. Sept – Hept – Seven, referring to the Seven New Gods that prevailed over the Faith. It was filled with people, nobles, high merchants, children old enough to not disrupt the proceedings, and guards. There were a lot of guards.

Princess Naera Targaryen stood behind a mostly closed door in the most prominent Sept in King’s Landing, running her fingers over a clear red ruby within an iron crest that dangled from her neck, as she pondered the customs. It was the door behind the Crone and the Stranger, though she did not know the reason. The Crone symbolised time—the future, perhaps? The Stranger held little significance to her.

Her father stood beside her, looking the best at his health than he had in a very long time. His maesters had outdone themselves, it seemed.

The High Septon’s quiet, drawling voice echoed through the Sept within, reading some prayers and extracts from the Seven-Pointed Star. It did not help that it was the same book which had been cited to Princess Alysanne before she married her brother who later came to be known as King Jaehaerys the Reconciler—there were none more deterred by their ways than those who held Faith in the Seven Gods. Naera did not understand why her family agreed with the commoners and their beliefs in this regard, when the commoners so rarely hid their dismay over the marriage of brother to sister as done in he Targaryen family.

House Targaryen had been fueled to stray above the petty crowds, as it was obvious in the height of the Iron Throne above those who stood on the grounds, as it was obvious in the soaring might of the dragon riders above the main populace. They were above them—as they had been, for a hundred years, and a thousand years before that also.

She stared through the inch-thin parting of the doors before her. She could see solemn light, and crowds, and the High Septon leaned over his book between the statues of the Mother and the Father. A stair below and to the right stood Daemon, dressed in black, arms clasped calmly as he struggled through the prayers—struggled, yes, for she knew him better than to think he felt no irritation or ire. She recognised faces by the statues—Aegon, by his height, Helaena, by the dress, Rhaenyra and Laenor, and her two older sons, and Aemond by the black spot of his eye-patch—she almost pitied the boy, were it not for his crime—and a woman in Green, extravagantly dressed, with a gleaming golden Seven-Pointed Star at her neck. Queen Alicent. Yes. That is why the dragon dared heed the wishes of the sheep. Her weak father was the reason.

Naera made an effort to not frown but pulled her arm away from her father. Not for long. Yes. House Hightower of Oldtown shall soon fall. She shall ensure it. The Greens shall forever be defeated, as Aegon’s enemies had been. The dragon does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep, and it was time they returned to a reign ruled with Fire and Blood, and not compromise and faltering diplomacy.

Naera ran her fingers along the edge of the cloak on her back—ash black, as the remnants of a most disastrous fire, with a blood-red dragon—a dragon has three heads—inscribed in a circle. Fire and Blood, but perhaps she just needed to rediscover her fire—perhaps the man, her uncle, her blood who she had never really known, who stood irate, about to wed her would help her. Perhaps, he’d warm and rekindle her lost flames with his own fire.

Before she guts him, of course. Although, perhaps the pyre of his funeral shall burn her with a delight so strong, a kind of joy which would burn through her blood for all her life. Perhaps.

The doors were heaved open by priests from within, and Naera gave her father her arm. The crowds hushed silence as the King walked in his daughter, his Visenya Returned, down the aisle to where the High Septon stood. Every step felt numbing on her feet, a strange anticipation boiling in her throat—the urge to destroy, surely, but she did not like the sensation. It felt like she had seconds before she had been enslaved for the first time, with no hopes for escape, the way she had felt every second in Stygai before the world came crashing down, the way she had felt when Raiden had first taken to illness. Nothing good came of this feeling.

Naera did not look down; she did not dare blemish the rites and her family. No, she wore the Targaryen cloak with pride, despite the implication, despite the sighs of contempt and aversion at her blood. It had not been her choice, she thought. This was the crown’s disdain to bear and it was an insult to the King to ignore.

Naera looked up to the blinding morning sun that gleamed through the windows, and her own regal lilac eyes caught those of nourishing soil brown. Elysabeth Tyrell stood in a gown of gold and pink, as the rose she was, a teasing look stuck on her beautiful face as she stood closer to the Septon than the rest, ready to receive her cloak.

Her father grasped her arm a little tighter as they ascended the stairs to the Septon—to Daemon, who stared down at his struggling brother with a shielded stare of pity, and then looked upon his Valyrian bride, and smiled. Viserys settled to the side, standing on the left, behind his dear daughter, besides the Queen, and their children.

Naera ascended the final stair alone, her footsteps echoing in the silence, and she stood before her smiling uncle—smiling, still, at her decorated face, her silver hair, and at her silver gown, her black cloak, and he refused to stare between her breasts where the red ruby dangled. He would not let himself be reminded of that ordeal, tubis daor—not today.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” and Naera turned with mincing steps to face the statues behind her. She felt Daemon lift up her cloak and saw Lady Tyrell accept it with glee, and he spread another fabric—near perfectly identical—across her shoulders, and yet it felt heavier than her maiden’s cloak, as though a symbol of the weight that came with the ties of marriage. It crushed her from within, and without. Naera turned once the cloak was secure, trying her best to keep herself from frowning.

Suffer through this night, and relish in what comes after.

“My lords, my ladies,” the Septon drawled on, “we stand here, in the sight of gods and men, to witness the union of man and wife,” and Naera thoroughly frowned at his words. Man and wife—not husband and wife, then it should be man and woman. To denote a woman by her man is the simplest form of enslavement. “One flesh, one heard, one soul, now and forever.” No. It would not be forever, Naera knew. Nothing is forever.

She turned to face the Septon, as did Daemon. She held out her hand, and he covered it with his own, as the Septon wound a white ribbon round their joint hands, once, twice, thrice, until he approached seven loops. The Septon spoke as he wound the ribbon around their hands, “Let it be known that Naera of the House Targaryen and Daemon of the House Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” His hand over hers felt warm, comforting, caring.

“Look upon each other, and say the words,” and Naera turned to Daemon, their hands still held.

They spoke the names of the New Gods of the South, in unison, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” and never breaking their flow and rhythm, never cracking their unison, Daemon spoke, “I am hers, and she is mine.”

Naera spoke in a voice quieter than Daemon’s, but heard nonetheless, “I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” he finished.

“From this day, until the end of his days,” and the threat in Naera’s voice went unnoticed by all—by the Septon, by Elysabeth Tyrell, by her father, and her step-mother, and their children, and Rhaenyra and her family. It went unnoticed by every man and woman in the Sept, other than Daemon.

He tightened his grasp on her hand, smiling fake yet again, but she knew the joy of finally attaining his Valyrian Bride outweighed the possibility of losing her by the worth of a thousand lives. Soon enough, his eyes twinkled with the spark he must hold for a lady wife he has wanted for very long, and he still refused to glance at the ruby and all it represented.

“With this kiss,” and his voice adopted a dulcet tone she had never heard in it before, “I pledge my love.” And the destruction of House Hightower, was that which he did not voice. They knew—oh, they knew the promise very well. Naera couldn’t resist a smile, oh, to watch the perfect Alicent cower and weep to her false gods after all she holds dear is gone, and Naera yearned for the kiss that would promise it all. Daemon leaned forward, tilting his face to the side, the heat that radiated off his face, his eyes, his hands adding up to be too much, and pressed his warm lips against hers for a moment only—a moment of fire and storm that sent a chill down her spine, before pulling away. Yes.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” In perpetuity. Naera blinked, as the High Septon unwrapped the white ribbon. Daemon’s eyes smiled down at her, as did his lips, but Naera heard, in the euphonious voice of the woman from her dreams, or do I have my facts wrong?

I wasn’t there, your grace, a deeper, lower voice answered, quieter, smaller, inferior.

No, of course not, the voice of the Conqueror, the Targaryen Princess, the Breaker of Chains echoed in Naera’s mind, but still, an oath, is an oath, and an ounce of guilt ran down Naera, and in perpetuity means…what does in perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?

Forever, surely, Lord Tyrion, whoever he was, spoke.

Forever, and the voices faded away. Naera blinked. No. This was a sham wedding—it was not binding, it was not a promise—valar morghulis, all men must die, and she held no obligation to them all. Didn’t she?

“Are you alright?” Daemon asked her frozen face, concern colouring his joys.

No. No, no, no.

“Of course.”

There was always a portion of theatrics that came with tourneys. The cheers of the spectators, the clink and clutter of gamblers handing their silver and gold to barterers, the whispers amongst high nobility all boldened the knights. The thrumming of drums in a rhythmic setting boiled anticipation. To feel the heave and weight of one’s armour, to hear the hammering of one’s horse’s hooves against the mulch-ridden ground, and to stare into the eyes of your opponent, all those feet away, through the cages of one’s helm, was brilliance.

Daemon rode out on his horse—midnight dark, to match his obsidian armour. He heard the crowds and their cries and their praises, and it cemented a sort of pride he couldn’t source elsewhere. There were a series of knights lined up, bearing the emblems of houses on their chests, their horses lined up in a row—He always chose first. A man dressed in red and black announced his ordeal, as he rode past each and every mounted knight to find one worthy.

The first he faced was Jason Lannister, with his silken cape of red and gold and a lion that roared within. Dragons didn’t duel with Lions—no. The next was a Stark, and a Bolton, and Daemon had no desire to fight a man who stood no chance—no. Baratheon, Hightower, but he had already injured them before, so no. He passed by the Tyrell rose who dared have his beauty tainted, but oh, Targaryen.

With her wedding gown still in place beneath gleaming silver armour, and it made sense why she had chosen one with wide ankles—his lady wife, his beloved niece, his Naera had been serious about the tourney. The cloak he had settled on her shoulders just hours ago now acted as a cape, though hidden behind a sheer white cape that glowed in the sun, and when Daemon passed his horse by her, he saw a lilac eye wink through the bars of her helm. Well, he decided, as he turned his horse and lowered his lace to her shoulder.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, has chosen his opponent…” and the man was certainly confused beyond words, but he found them nonetheless, “It is…Princess Naera Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and, uh, the Silver Knight!” The crowds roared aloud, about to witness a match that wouldn’t be seen for another two hundred years at the least.

The man backed away thus, as Daemon approached the King’s bracket, his black stallion clucking its way to the front. “I request the favour of the Heir to the Iron Throne—Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” and if his old love did resent him for caving up thoughts and memories she had buried away, she did not show it.

“Good fortune to you, uncle,” she announced with a diplomatic smile and threaded a wreath of green leaves and yellow blossoms through his lance. He heard claps and excitement of those who watched, and wondered if he should be gentle—what would they think of him, if he disarmed his lady wife. Surely, that he was cruel and merciless, Maegor Returned, as she was Visenya—nothing they did not already believe.

Naera’s grey horse approached the bracket also, as Daemon took his place by one edge of the track. He saw the irritation on her face as she flicked off the visor of her helm, for he had known without a doubt that his niece would have asked the favour of her own sister.

“I ask for the favour of his grace, King Viserys,” and the crowds took a minute to register her request before they cried out in approval—this was hardly a conventional match, of course. “Shall I have your blessing, father?” Naera used her words to coax her laughing, joying, priding father off his chair. He fetched a wreath of gold and twine and dropped it through her iron lance.

“I wish you victory, Silver Knight—my Visenya Returned,” said the King, after which, he returned to his seat, and the happiness was evident on his ageing features. Naera let her horse neigh and directed it to turn and take its place on the opposite end of the track. The drums were beaten with vigour, with a rhythm long imbued into Daemon’s mind from all the tourneys he had won, and as the beats came to a still stop, he reined his horse to stagger and run forth, aiming his spear at an angle meant to disarm—to not hurt his lady wife at all.

Naera, at the other end, rode faster than he did, for she understood that the strength she did not possess would come with the speed her lord husband could not gain, and angled her spear further out into his space—to harm, and not just disarm.

Her armour caught the glow of the noon day’s sun, but her momentum made it all blur into a streak of silver, and as the cape of red and grey-black that hung off her back caught wind in the air, they clashed spears with a brassy, deafening blast of metal and wood.

Daemon’s spear cluttered against her wooden shield, splintering the wood and streaking the symbol of the dragon. Naera’s spear caved in a metal place near his shoulder, throwing him off his balance, and she turned, as her grey stallion blared past, to watch her uncle’s midnight dark horse cry out and run, throwing him off its back and down to the muddy, mulchy ground.

His arm collided against the fence pole, sending a crackle of pain through his shoulder.

There were at least a thousand men and women—and as the Rogue Prince was demounted by his new lady wife, every single man, woman, and child shored up a riotous, thundering uproar. Daemon pushed his way to his feet, gasping and groaning.

Oh. She was not bluffing, it seemed.

Naera turned her stallion, and shouted, “Get him a sword!” Happy.

A squire approached Daemon, holding out the sheathed Black Sister. Oh, he had been wrong—how terribly wrong. He watched Naera dismount her horse, tugging off the heaviest of her armour around her shoulders and arms, and dropping it to the ground, but leaving the breastplate in place. He watched her remove her jousting helm, letting her silver hair fall across her shoulders.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister with a shrill sound, throwing away his helm, making his way towards Naera as the man from earlier announced their intentions. Naera held a thin blade, not very strong or sturdy, but he did not know what to expect.

“First blood,” he named his terms, and she hummed her approval above the noise of the people.

“Very well,” but neither of them failed to notice the panic in the King’s eyes as he leaned against the veranda, face contorted in worry. Eh.

Naera held her blade in her high hand, extending it straight, as though it was a part of her arm. Daemon lunged at her, his sword aimed straight, and she leaned away, stepping back, not daring to try her hand at a straight clash. No, Naera instead leaned away, stepped back, whipping her grey gown against the wet mud, and swiped her sword against dark sister as it heaved down, and again, and again—three quiet hits and her sword pointed at Daemon’s face. Ah.

He drew a long breath, whipping around and slashing at her, but Naera—his Naera, leaned away, again, and again, and she managed to catch him off guard with a drastic flip of her hair, and pushed down her leg against his chest. Daemon slipped against the mulch, colliding against the ground yet again, and Naera pointed the thin, flimsy blade at him, at his neck, and the fear of the nights before returned.

A man has lost to a girl, he almost heard her say, but with the fear turning to singed panic, and the panic being the fire that fueled his blood, he kicked her down onto the mud, staggering to his feet, and Naera had already twirled back to her feet—agile, elegant, quick. He watched the silk and silver of her gown tear and screech at the hems, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered—not when her eyes were smiling unlike he had ever seen them do.

Naera clashed her sword against his armour, against his Valyrian Steel Blade, and it clattered off into two pieces. She hissed at the loss, taking a large step backwards, and lunged at Daemon with the broken blade, aiming at his neck. Daemon pulled the blade out of her hands, throwing it somewhere near the shouting man who informed the people of their deeds.

Daemon heard the pitched sliding of metal against metal, as Naera unsheathed the dagger he had once gifted her. Oh, she was being sentimental, in a way.

He gasped a laugh, clutching Dark Sister as hard as he could, and he slashed at her again, and she knelt down to avoid it, piecing her second blade through the joint plates of his obsidian armour. Daemon groaned out in pain, and Naera was again throwing him down with her weight, her Valyrian Steel dagger striking across his cheek in a blur of grey and silver.

Daemon faced the skies, and he watched Naera raise her dagger, coated in his blood, smiling, happy, almost ecstatic, he’d even dare word. He felt warm blood pour down his face, and the sting of a wound well cut spreading through his mind.

Every woman in the crowd—Rhaenyra and Elysabeth in particular, screamed out their joys at her victory, but the face of King Viserys, clapping at his daughter’s victory shone through the rest.

“Well, husband?” Naera held out a hand, silver hair settled down on her shoulders, as she replaced the blade by her waist. Her lilac eyes gleamed brighter than her hair, and her breastplate shone with the light of the sun. The lines on her face had settled, a suppressed smile eating away at her face, Silver Knight. Daemon accepted her hand, unable to fight a smile. He had never enjoyed losing—who did?

He did not leave her hand once he stood but instead raised it above their heads, despite the ache in his leg and on his face. He left her arm hanging high, and wrapped both his arms around her waist, and raised her up higher. The shadow of the tracks escaped her, and the tilted sun illuminated her. The shimmer of her armour blinded him, but he looked on, at her blooming high-set cheeks, her rosy, smiling lips and her eyes—oh, her eyes, which he was sure were amethysts worth more gold than this world could own. She was perfect.

Naera laughed as she did, like a shower of crystal rain after a decade-long drought, like a wakening light in the darkest of hells, and like a little child after receiving praise or a maiden after receiving a flower from her long love. He couldn’t resist—did not wish to resist the grin that befell him.

He had lost.

He loved it.

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

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whispersinthedawn · 2 years ago

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The Last of a Dying Breed (2)

She should have sung paeans, should have recited poems glorifying Apollo. She should have sacrificed a bull and not half a litre of her own blood. She should have spoken ritual words that she didn’t know.

Instead, all she had was the strength of her own conviction, the power of her desperation.

“Phoebus Apollo, Apollo Alexicacus,Apollo Iatromantis, Apollo Didymeus” she started hoarsely, uncertain as to why these names dropped off her lips, but willing to accept it as divine providence. “Lord of Delphi, Protector of Youth, please accept my plea. All I wish for is to be your Oracle. I promise to devote my life to you, to swear off any attachment but you. To speak your words as the only truth in the world, to lay myself at your feet and see only that which you wish me to see.”

Percy’s heart raced inside her chest, simultaneously terrified and strangely comforted by the almost ritual cadence of her words. These … were the wrong words for the Pythia, she knew that as soon as they left her lips. But these were the words she’d spoken, and so this was the promise she’d keep.

As long as Apollo accepted.

Percy looked down at the face reflected in the blood pooled on the floor. For a second, the strangest sense of disorientation struck her. Was that pale, stressed thing really her face? It looked dead already, like she’d been chewed up and spat out by the Minotaur whose horn lay on her bed.

As she waited, the same quiet refrain ran through her head.

If he couldn’t even do this, then what good was Apollo?

If she couldn’t even do this, then what good was Percy?

Like the quietest of sunrises, the room gradually lightened. The presence that filled the chamber, however, was anything but gentle.

A searing heat blasted Percy’s skin, threatening to roast her alive. Had her eyes been anywhere but at the floor, the sheer brilliance of Apollo’s appearance would have burned out her soul.

As it was, she instinctively slammed her eyes shut, rainbow dots sprinkling the back of her lids like confetti on a cake. Unwilling to present herself as a cowering child, however, Percy transitioned the act into a bow of subservience.

“Lord Apollo,” she murmured.

Only now that he stood in front of her, did Percy register just how badly she’d wished Apollo to ignore all her prayers as her own father had done her pleas.

Only now that he’d deigned to show up did she realise just how much trouble she was in.

“So, you are the intrepid soul who seeks to become my Pythia?” the god purred.

Percy dared blink open teary eyes, incongruously surprised to find a Greek god dressed in Celestial Bronze. Somewhere deep inside, she’d almost expected the gods who were so busy with the war to be garbed in the camouflage raiment utilised by the soldiers. But no, at least from the knee down, Apollo wore gleaming bronze armour and leather sandals.

His shoes clicked sharply against the wooden flooring as he circled her, but Percy kept her eyes on the ground. Her efforts to avoid giving offense for as long as possible didn’t last long, though.

Quick as the snakes that were his sacred animal, fingers of steel gripped her chin and wrenched her head up.

Percy gasped, shocked out of the terrified complaisance she’d fallen into.

Furious golden eyes caught ever-changing sea-green.

Percy’s heart stuttered.

She'd never before seen a god so radiant he’d moved straight past ethereal into inhuman. But even if she had, she rather thought there would never be another Phoebus Apollo.

“The audacity,” Apollo whispered.

Percy took in burnished gold curls, tanned skin, high cheekbones, sharp nose, and wide eyes, all shaded in an unreal light, and had the disconcerting realisation that rage suited gods.

Her father had never seemed so real in all their affectionate moments together as Apollo did now while on the verge of smiting her.

“Is it audacity to wish to devote my life to the spirit of Delphi?” she breathed out.

“It is when you don’t even know the correct words,” he snarled.

“Is ritual more important than true sentiment?” she demanded. “Would you rather I recite a few unfeeling, memorised verses … or that conviction forms the core of my words?”

He dropped her chin, rearing back like she was the cobra about to strike.

“Such bold words,” he said after a moment. “But is your conviction not directed solely towards your fellow demigods? What devotion will you afford me when all that runs through your head is how you may be of use to them?”

“All that is left in me,” Percy answered desperately.

Apollo laughed, a scathing denigration of her statement and existence in one. “And you believe one girl’s devotion is enough for me to accept just anyone who throws themselves at me?”

Percy shook her head, mind whirring through the possibilities, discarding one answer after the other at the speed of light. “It is not me you’re accepting,” she finally informed him far more calmly than she felt.

At Apollo’s quirked eyebrow, she continued delicately, “Your Oracle died today.”

At the growing thunderstorm on his brow, Percy hurried to ask, “Apollo Iatromantis, how many more of the people you have claimed as yours will die if you don’t accept me today?”

Previous | Next

#pjo #fanfiction #percy jackson #apollo #perpollo #Oracle Percy #fem percy #percy x apollo #the last of a dying breed

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paladinbaby · 2 years ago

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[Image Description: A digital drawing of my pc Nettle from the home game Library of Lensa in washed out pastel colours against a dark blue background. Nettle is a white woman with long white hair and a full sleeve of tattoos on her left arm. Her eyes are glowing white and she’s looking directly forward. She wears a plain green dress and a long blue green veil, pinned into her hair with yellow flowers, that falls to the bottom of the image. Her hands are together in prayer. There are several glowing yellow circles in the background radiating off of her. The second image is a close up of her face showing the layers of colouring around her eyes. End ID.]

#dnd5e #d&d art #d&d character #d&d character art #d&d 5e #personal #my art #my art described #nettle :)#c:lensa #lensa art

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angele-rose · 7 months ago

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The Cult Of Stories

Part 1 - The New Preistess

The 51st preistess of The Cult of stories earns her title

TW: Violence, slightly gory, murder, let me know if I've missed anything

Note: this is just something I wrote on a whim after someone told me it was a good idea, it's been proofread but not edited

Many years ago it was said a god came to earth and sat around a campfire, telling people the stories of the gods, gesturing wildly and making smoke to show his characters, he then left his sword behind, gave it to a woman and decreed her his high priestess, saying whoever dealt a killing blow to her with her sword would take her place, simultaneously cursing and empowering her. But her fate was sealed, she died by her own blade and the woman that killed her took her place as high priestess, and the cycle continued, on and on and on and on throughout the rule of fifty priestesses, all under the name of the mysterious ‘god of tales’. He never came again, or perhaps he did in a different form, perhaps he was the priestess’ advisor, the shrivelled old man who welcomed them, bowing deeply and giving them something to drink, explaining what’s happened. Forever old but never aging a day.

Or maybe the god is watching, proud he has managed to get himself a cult.

Who knows?

We don’t

The character this story follows is named Catherine. She’s wearing her brother’s clothes, stolen from his drawers and covered in mud and rips from walking, through the forest to god knows where. She has blonde hair and pale skin with blue eyes. Of course she did, stereotypical princess, runaway princess too. A walking cliché without a sword. She’d been too scared to pull it out a man’s corpse after she killed him so foolishly decided to make to without and just void the main paths, unknowingly giving herself up for slaughter, by a bear, or a wolf….or a cult.

A crow screeched overhead and flew off, making her eyes flick up. For some reason she followed it, watching it skim over the trees, bringing her up onto a path that had been walked so well the trees grew around it in a circle, the sunlight filtering through green leaves, a rabbit in the mud hopping across the path into the bushes.

The crow landed on a nearby branch and cocked its head, hopping down a few branches on the tree before it hit the ground, waddling up to her and pecking her oversized boot, before turning around, hopping down the path and flying below the leafy canopy, again, she followed it, her feet stepping one in front of the other, her eyes fixed on the clever black bird as it walked her like a dog.

The path led to a clearing, where a woman knelt in the centre, streaks of sunlight filtering through the leaves to shine on her. Her hair touched the floor, her dress a deep green and ripped, the bird flew up and through the trees out of sight. The knelt woman had her back to Catherine, as if in prayer. Stepping forward, Catherine snapped a twig, making the kneeling woman whip her head around, her cheek had deep scratches, making blood drip down her chin, her eyes wide in fear.

With a barbaric roar she stood and grabbed a sword from the floor, running towards Catherine who god a glimpse at a bloody face before she had to duck when a sword was swung at her and hide behind a tree, the blade getting stuck in the wood giving her time to run to the other side of the building.

“He sent you! He sent you! he sent you to kill me he sent you!” the woman shrieked, tugging the sword out the tree and making for Catherine again who grabbed a branch from the ground and swung it at the woman’s head, it hit her with a thunk, making her sway a little before cutting the end off with the sword

“Silly silly silly little girl!” She taunted, backing Catharine up against a tree, which she had to dodge behind as the woman took another swing.

“Nobody sent me I don’t know who you are!”

“Silly LYING little girl!”

“I don’t know who you are!”

There was another shriek, another swing and a raven, scratching the hand that held the sword, making it fall to the grass

Catherine took it. Raised it, and swung.

The priestess’ head fell to the floor, her mouth still agape, and her face still bleeding from the scratches.

The new priestess had been selected.

All future updates on this fic can be found on AO3 here

#loki fanfic #loki #original story #original character #angele rose #writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #loki laufeyson

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adelitaflores · 2 years ago

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Prep for Summer Solstice celebrations

Open starter

Where: The Hallowed Forest, near the edge

When: Late evening

For the High Priestess of Helka’s Own to be found in the Hallowed Forest, casting spells or prepping for ceremonies, was a common occurrence. Throughout the year, her coven and other witches who practiced similarly, would celebrate the passing of time, the changing of seasons by attending ceremonies in the town’s forest. About a mile or so away from the edge lay the ruins of the Helka’s Own oldest suspected first of worship. It had long since become a depraved place for teens to hang out, drink underage and so on. The graffiti that covered the half walls and clumps or old marble, had given the once holy place a garish kind of aesthetic. This was of course, transformed once Adelita inherited her title thirteen years prior and took over the coven.

At once, the original coven’s place of worship was washed clean by spells and potions, blessings bestowed by the coven’s priestess and advisors. One of the covens most proficient spellcasters assisted in the cleansing and created spells that kept anyone or anything with anything but pure intentions from entering the hallowed space. The combinations of spells, cleansing, prayer and of course hard manual labour had transformed the rubble and mess of beer cans and fire pits into a tranquil and serene place to practice witchcraft and cast spell circles.

The coven did not attempt to rebuild the place of worship, instead it was left open to the elements, what was left of the walls glistened white and silver in the moon and sunlight. A stone table sat nestled between the debris of the original building was often adorned with herbs, spices, ingredients and candles. It was here where the middle aged Priestess stood twisting and manipulating green leaves into the form of the Holly Royalty’s face. That evenings all night celebrations would include the dance battle between the Oak Royalty (an entity representing the light side of the year) and the Holly Royalty (the dark, winter side of the year) and Adelita was working on the masks to be worn by the coven members involved in the display.

Sure, as jobs go, this was definitely one the Priestess no doubt should have delegated to another person, her time more efficiently being spent elsewhere, but the single witch had reserved this little task for herself. The familiar, the traditional and mundane felt good to the woman who lived in a permanent state of stress, anticipating one disaster and one success to the next. She was not alone however, she was as usual accompanied by two guards, a witch and a werewolf who stood at a distance, giving the Priestess some space.

Dark, curls hung loose, and she was dressed immaculately as always, though a little more relaxed. She wore an olive V-neck, wide legged jumpsuit that complimented her complexion wonderfully. White five inch strappy heals were left discarded amongst the brambles and dirt of the forest floor, and she stood barefoot, toes pressed comfortably into the soil beneath her. She looked on her task with a look of determined concentration, but there was a look of such genuine calm on the witch’s face. In that place, Adelita was just a witch, making a pretty mask for a dancer, hell, even the tell tale signs of age about her eyes seemed smoothed out, making her appear more youthful.

#adelitaflores #hallowedforest #open starter #opulencestarter

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hyakinthou-naos · 5 months ago

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Hyakíntha Ritual: The Pénthos

1. Ceremonial Garments

As we mourn the passing of our patron's consort, Prince Hyacinthus, we adorn ourselves in simple clothes of dark colors. We wear no jewelry, we partake in no adornments, we allow our grief to permeate the air. He who was all beauty, all light, and all focus of Our Lord Apollo's affections. He was all good, all kindness, all love. We bind our hair and don our veils as we proceed to Temple.

2. Khernips & Purification

We reach the steps and ramps of The Temple's entrance, it's wide white doors opened wide for our precession.

The entrance chamber holds a bowl of water where flaming leaves of bay and laurel have been extinguished. The water is cool as we wash our hands in the lustral water, cleansing ourselves before we enter The Temple's center.

3. Gathering at the Altar

We proceed into The Temple's center; there is music playing softly as we enter. The altar is positioned in the center of the room, behind which stands the Steward - dressed in black. Chairs and pillows for seating are arranged in a semi-circle in front of the altar, upon each is a hyacinth flower in full bloom.

We take our seats

4. Opening Prayer & Deity Invocation

As we settle into our chosen seats, the music fades away. The Steward stands behind the altar and lights the center candle, and speaks:

Hestia, great goddess of the ancients - Daughter of the Titans Cronus and Rhea - She who is honored before all others. O great goddess, we ask that you accept this flame as an offering to you. Hestia, goddess of hearth and home Lead our way, and light our path.

The Steward then moves to light the second candle, as well as the ceremonial incense. The wick ignites and sweetly scented smoke begins to fill the room. They raise their arms to the heavens, and speak:

Lord Apollo, wonderous god of music and poetry Son of Lord Zeus and Lady Lêta Lover of Hyacinthus, for whom we mourn O bright and shining Lord, we ask that you accept these offerings - flame and incense. We pray that they will ease your heart. We call upon you today, great god of prophecy and healing, to bare witness to our ritual - as we honor your fallen love. The great Prince Hyacinthus of Sparta, for whom these flowers honor. May Hermes carry these words from our lips, to your ears, on mighty Mount Olympus. Du et des, we give so you may give.

5. Hymns & Music

As the Steward concludes their prayer, they open a book sat behind the altar - Metamorphese by Ovid. The pages turn as the Steward opens to Book 10 - and begins to read:

You also, Hyacinthus, would have been set in the sky! if Phoebus had been given time which the cruel fates denied for you. But in a way you are immortal too. Though you have died. Always when warm spring drives winter out, and Aries (the Ram) succeeds to Pisces (watery Fish), you rise

and blossom on the green turf. And the love my father had for you was deeper than he felt for others. Delphi center of the world, had no presiding guardian, while the God frequented the Eurotas and the land of Sparta, never fortified with walls. His zither and his bow no longer fill

his eager mind and now without a thought of dignity, he carried nets and held the dogs in leash, and did not hesitate to go with Hyacinthus on the rough, steep mountain ridges; and by all of such associations, his love was increased. Now Titan was about midway, betwixt

the coming and the banished night, and stood at equal distance from those two extremes. Then, when the youth and Phoebus were well stripped, and gleaming with rich olive oil, they tried a friendly contest with the discus. First Phoebus, well-poised, sent it awhirl through air, and cleft the clouds beyond with its broad weight;

from which at length it fell down to the earth, a certain evidence of strength and skill. Heedless of danger Hyacinthus rushed for eager glory of the game, resolved to get the discus. But it bounded back from off the hard earth, and struck full against your face, O Hyacinthus! Deadly pale

the God's face went — as pallid as the boy's. With care he lifted the sad huddled form. The kind god tries to warm you back to life, and next endeavors to attend your wound, and stay your parting soul with healing herbs. His skill is no advantage, for the wound is past all art of cure. As if someone,

when in a garden, breaks off violets, poppies, or lilies hung from golden stems, then drooping they must hang their withered heads, and gaze down towards the earth beneath them; so, the dying boy's face droops, and his bent neck, a burden to itself, falls back upon his shoulder: “You are fallen in your prime

defrauded of your youth, O Hyacinthus!” Moaned Apollo. “I can see in your sad wound my own guilt, and you are my cause of grief and self-reproach. My own hand gave you death unmerited — I only can be charged with your destruction.—What have I done wrong? Can it be called a fault to play with you?

Should loving you be called a fault? And oh, that I might now give up my life for you! Or die with you! But since our destinies prevent us you shall always be with me, and you shall dwell upon my care-filled lips. The lyre struck by my hand, and my true songs will always celebrate you. A new flower

you shall arise, with markings on your petals, close imitation of my constant moans: and there shall come another to be linked with this new flower, a valiant hero shall be known by the same marks upon its petals.” And while Phoebus, Apollo, sang these words with his truth-telling lips, behold the blood

of Hyacinthus, which had poured out on the ground beside him and there stained the grass, was changed from blood; and in its place a flower, more beautiful than Tyrian dye, sprang up. It almost seemed a lily, were it not that one was purple and the other white. But Phoebus was not satisfied with this.

For it was he who worked the miracle of his sad words inscribed on flower leaves. These letters AI, AI, are inscribed on them. And Sparta certainly is proud to honor Hyacinthus as her son; and his loved fame endures; and every year they celebrate his solemn festival.

The Steward finishes his reading, placing the book back from whence it came, and arranges for the music to begin. Before starting the music, the Steward speaks:

I invite you all to listen to this music, and think of Prince Hyacinthus. Think of all the queer lovers who were taken from this world too soon. Think of all the queer lovers who cannot speak their truth aloud. Think of all the queer lovers, through which we can see Apollo and Hyacinthus. The Gods are with us, they are within us, if only we are to search for them. We are not separate from divinity, for we are all made from divinity.

Music begins to play, and the Steward beats his chest to rhythm of the song.

6. Libations

As the music concludes, the Steward places a large ceremonial bowl in the center of the participants. The Steward then returns with glasses filled with liquid, giving one to each of those in attendance. The Steward stands in front of the altar and speaks:

In honor and reverence of the ancient ways, we hold before us a libation of honey, water, and wine. As we pour these libations, we offer them to Prince Hyacinthus. He who was the lover of our Lord, he whose beauty was unrivaled, he who was taken far too soon.

We all pour our libations into the center bowl, the liquids flow together - some splashing onto the floor and our feet - and another song begins.

7. Divination

[Ritual attendees/participants are encouraged to engage in their own personal divination with Lord Apollo at this time.]

8. Closing Prayers

As the song finishes, the Steward returns to be behind the altar. They take a moment to pause, before speaking:

Hermes Psychopomp, guide of lost souls, we call to thee Guide the soul of Hyacinthus to the realms of Hades, where Queen Persephone reigns. Mighty Pluto, King of the Underworld, we call to thee Receive this soul with kindness and grant him peace in your domain. May his journey to the underworld be swift and gentle. Just Rhadamanthys, Fair Minos, and Honorable Aiakos - judges of the departed souls, we call to thee May Hyacinthus find rest in the Elysian Fields, may he know peace in the land of the dead, may he suffer no longer. O great gods of the underworld, we ask that you accept Hyacinthus, and that he may they find eternal rest and honor within your kingdom.

The Steward raises his arms to the heavens, and once again speaks:

Apollo Aegletus Shining Lord We Feel You In The Rising Sun Apollo Proupsius Foreseeing Lord We Trust Our Future Within Your Hands Apollo Musagetes Lord Of The Muses We Hear Your Voice In Song And Hymn Apollo Acesius Lord Of Healing We Trust In You To See Tomorrow Golden God We Sing Your Praise We Honor You And Speak Your Name Golden God We Beg Your Ear Be With Us And Keep Us Near Du Et Des

The Steward lowers his arms and extinguishes the second candle, before speaking for a final time:

Hestia, first -

They blow out the center candle.

- and last

And with that, the ritual is concluded.

#Hyakíntha Ritual: The Pénthos #Hyakíntha #Hyakintha #Hyakintha Ritual #The Temple of Hyacinthus #Lord Hyacinthus #Hyacinthus #Lord Apollo #Apollo #Textpost #HelPol #Hellenic Polytheism

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kathyprior4200 · 1 year ago

Text

Heavenly Boss S2 E1: Hearing Homilies

“In the glorious expanse of the seven heavens, there exists infinite amounts of incredible phenomena. The third sphere of Heaven where those who love God and humanity dwell. The twelve wise men in the fourth. The warriors in the fifth sphere and the righteous in the sixth. The golden ladder in the seventh for those who devoted themselves to prayer. But in the higher spheres of the Fixed Stars, you may see Mary and other saints. The highest sphere of all is the Empyrean, where angels dance in circles of light around the Light which is God Himself. Divine white roses flourish with life and positivity. Although Seraphim sing around God’s throne, seeing the Empyrean and its angelic guardians is just as spectacular. One the sabbath day, on the 7th day of the seventh month, our corner of reality is treated to an incredible sight. For it is said that Jesus Christ Himself will appear from a shining beam of light, bringing together souls from all corners of Heaven together. A divine sermon takes place in the sky, where Jesus and the Holy Spirit Dove will give each of us a divine message from God about our futures. This advice will give us much to think about in our long prosperous lives. Anyone can attend…” Yeshua’s Gist.”

Azrael, the Angel of Death, narrated the scene, a Bible in front of him. The images showed the Virgin Mary and the saints talking to various angels and souls. It showed Jesus with long brown hair and a white face and him wearing a worn white robe with a dove over his head. The sun, the moon, and all the planets aligned and formed the seven heavens, while the stars and angels brightened the higher spheres. Azrael curled up his hand and the images faded. An open Bible hovered in front of him, surrounded by gold magic.

“Well, at least it’ll be fun for the outgoing folk,” he mentioned.

He tucked in little Quartet Enoch, the swan princess who giggled. Quartet had white feathery hair and a dark face with green eyes. She wore a blue dress with halos on it. Her mother, Flora, had long black feathers; she was an avian nature angel.

Quartet’s room was white with blue trim on the ceiling. She had a princess bed with a gold sparkling canopy, and a gold crown design on the headboard. An overhead mobile showed an angel playing a trumpet, a star, a harp, and a flower.

“Daddy, can we go see it someday?” she asked, eyes wide in wonder.

“Of course,” said Azrael. “I promise. When the day comes, nothing will be able to keep me and your mom from seeing it with you. Goodnight, my angel.”

“Goodnight,” called Quartet with a yawn. The Bible followed Azrael as he closed the door. Quartet wiggled in her bed and giggled with excitement.

0 0 0

Many years later, a teen Quartet woke up, excited. On her calendar, she had drawn a Christian Cross and the smiling faces of her and her father and mother. She put on her green dress with black skulls on it, her gold crown, white jacket, and white boots. She greeted some golden singing roses that were in pots along the hall.

“Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad!” she called. The kitchen was empty. A halo flickered above her head.

“Mom?”

She looked on the balcony. Black onyx pillars held several dome-shaped gazebos in a garden below. There was a tricking of a gold fountain with a statue of a raised sword with water gushing from the tip. No one save for a groundskeeper elf was present there.

“Dad?”

Quartet walked all throughout the palace, her hand on a golden rail decorated with eye designs.

She finally spotted them out front in the courtyard. They were speaking in hushed tones.

They turned to her. “Oh, hello ‘Tet,” said Flora, brushing a flower from her black feathery hair. Her dress was various shades of green and made of feathers. Her angel wings were folded back, and a halo hovered above her head.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Azrael.

“Yes!” said Quartet.

“Go change into this,” said Flora. She showed Quartet a beautiful golden dress with diamonds on the front shaped like a Christian Cross between two white angel wings. There was also a pair of white high heels and gemstones to attach to her wings.

“Huh,” said Quartet. “I didn’t know it was that fancy. Still very nice.”

Quartet snapped her fingers and lifted herself magically into the air. In a flash of light, the fancy dress moved toward her and was on her. Her original clothes were back in Flora’s arms.

“Better,” said Flora.

Quartet lowered to the ground and smiled, but then spotted her dad walking away.

“Dad, where are you going?”

Azrael turned to her with a somber expression. “To attend to my usual duties.”

A bloody scythe appeared in his hand and his dark wings stretched outward as thunder crashed in the background for effect.

“But I thought you were coming with us?”

Flora sighed. “There has been…a slight change in plans.”

“Let me know how it goes,” said Azrael before vanishing into the darkness.

Quartet gasped. “The ceremony isn’t canceled, is it?”

“No,” said Flora. She waved her hand and a portal appeared. Both of them stepped through it and it closed behind them. They stood before a large gold palace with Hebrew letters engraved into the ornate double doors.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Quartet asked.

Flora gave her a look. “I should’ve told you this sooner but…”

“But what?”

“You know that you visit your father for the weekend once every month, right?”

Quartet’s eyes went wide. ‘Sugar honey iced tea!’ she thought. ‘I completely forgot!’ She slowly nodded.

“Well, it’s that time again.”

The double doors opened and there stood a tall, elegant swan angel. His eyes glowed dark green and his black feathery hair was in a tight bun. He wore a white suit with a high collar trimmed with gold with his sigil on his suit. Two swan heads looped around his neck. A red necktie was in the middle of his suit, and he also had a red cape behind him. Hovering above him was a halo with a red carnelian crystal in the center. His face was feathery white, and he had a hooked beak-like nose.

He revealed a small smile. “Hello, Quartet. It’s great to see you again.”

Among other rooms in the palace were other angelic members of the Shem HaMeporash. Some were humanoid but manly angels who had features of lions, lambs, doves, swans, eagles, and other heavenly animals.

Quartet awkwardly waved back. “Hello father.”

“I see Azrael has let you slack off again,” Menadel muttered to Quartet as he strode forward. He briefly looked at Flora. “You know, Flora…if your daughter ever wants to fulfil her role better and spend more time with me…”

“That is, if you’re not preoccupied with the angelic council and half a dozen other things,” Flora remarked coldly. “I’ve said it before…Quartet stays with me and Azrael the most. He’s married to me.”

“Which is a big mistake,” he seethed. “Falling for the angel of death who’s so unlike yourself.”

“He loves me for who I am. He didn’t hesitate to care for Quartet.”

“You were supposed to raise her during the time I was gone,” said Menadel. “I wanted to be there with you and her. But my duties to answer mortals’ prayers and monitor the inferior race of the Goetia demons was paramount.”

“And you called yourself a breadwinner husband,” Flora scoffed. “Just because we’re rich doesn’t mean you can go off and put more things on all our plates! I’m surprised you’re not on duty right now!”

“I wouldn’t miss this ceremony for the world,” he said. “And neither should you and Quartet. You were supposed to remain my faithful wife. If you were a mortal and cheated on me like you did…well, just be glad you aren’t one.”

“How low of you to suddenly degrade the very beings you try to help,” Flora narrowed her eyes. “Mortals were made in His image too, not just us angels.”

“Sinful mortals are like sinful demons…just as bad and more often than not, they become demons themselves. Hence why we need Quartet to be diligent with ensuring that no threats…”

“The only threat I perceive is your overbearing, straight and narrow attitude,” Flora spat. “She’s still a young teen!”

Quartet hid her face in her hands briefly as she watched the argument. Quartet knew whenever she was with her dad, she witnessed his detachment from her and his preoccupation with rules. She hated when her parents didn’t get along.

Hence when he said to Quartet, “I hope you’ve been practicing for the ceremony. There’s much to do.”

“Sorry, Quartet,” said Flora. “But you’ll be spending the weekend and ceremony with Menadel. I’ll meet you at the ceremony later.”

Quartet glared at her mother, who gave her an apologetic look.

Flora vanished through a portal, leaving Quartet alone.

Half an hour later in the ornate living room, Quartet’s back hurt as she stood rehearsing her lines for the ceremony. Being a princess, if she decided to attend, which she was, Menadel reminded her of her important role to inspire her people. Quartet enjoyed singing and praising to her Lord…but eight times in a row was getting tiresome.

“He is Elohim, our benevolent, all-knowing Creator. Jesus the Christ is His extension, the savior of the human race and of Earth. Archangel Michael, He Who Is Like God, is His angel general and supreme protector, sword of flame the bane of all evil. Before there was only darkness, but God brought light and life. For all who are lost…for mortals lost in sin and for the denizens of Heaven seeking answers, you can always go to Him. Obey, pray, and serve each day…for He knows all of us best. His light is brighter than a thousand suns, the whole of this universe created by Him. Jesus devotes his life to Viv…”

Menadel raised his eyebrow. Quartet cleared her throat.

“Um, I mean to give, all He has to help rich and poor alike…”

“More passion. More faith,” Menadel pressed.

“Father, I’ve done this so many times now…” Quartet groaned. She flopped on a couch made of velvety red satin.

“It must be perfect, if you are to attend,” he said. “Heaven counts greatly on the influence of the Shem HaMeporash family. The ceremony starts in a few hours.”

‘Still cares about status over his own daughter,’ Quartet thought. She never thought she would have to recite a speech.

“Can I take a break?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “After you finish your closing lines.”

Quartet sighed and continued.

“Don’t forget your choir song and pyrotechnic display afterwards,” Menadel reminded her.

After she finished, Quartet raced to her room upstairs. This room was vaster and more spacious than her other mansion room…not as homey. White pillars supported a large, curved balcony that was all her own. A gold chandelier with teal glowing crystals hung on the high ceiling. The ceiling itself was painted with Adam reaching out to God. (A replica of a famous mortal work of art). White marble swan statues were everywhere around the room and throughout the mansion, with Menadel’s symbol on them. Her bed was queen-sized, no signs of her familiar nature posters. But there were some posters of Jesus, clouds, and the Ten Commandments…almost like her father set up this room for her (he did.) When she was younger, Menadel was comforting in subtle ways, like when he sang the Lord’s prayer to her as a lullaby. Or the times when he said he was proud of her after teaching her some magic and flying. But Quartet figured that Menadel only saw her as a valued potential member of the Shem HaMeporash…not who she was deeper down. The weekends she spent with him were a tedious nuisance.

Azrael may have been gloomy and distant, but he had a softer, understanding side that seemed to be absent in her real father. Azrael also didn’t emphasis the religious aspects all that much. He mostly let Flora nurture her but was there for Quartet as much as he could.

At least, Quartet hoped Azrael was trying.

Quartet picked up her blue backpack with stars on it and slung it over her shoulders.

She then picked up a Bible on her dresser and flipped open the pages. There was no way she’d be dragged along to the ceremony by Menadel. She could already see Menadel parading her around just to make Azrael and other misunderstood angels uneasy. She looked much more like her avian mother and father than she did to the humanoid Azrael. Azrael was an archangel, similar to Samuel…important, but not always liked.

Quartet looked at her scroll of paper that read “Change Is Holy…the Benefits of a more Inclusive Christianity.” She absentmindedly opened a small portal and tossed the wrapped-up scroll through.

Then she concentrated.

“Take me to see my savior,” she said, visualizing Jesus in her mind. Then her mind got distracted.

The Bible glowed golden, and a white spinning cross appeared under Quartet. Tendrils of white spun and danced around her. Quartet’s eyes briefly glowed white, and she walked through the portal. The portal closed behind her.

0 0 0

At E.L.F. headquarters, a calendar hung on the wall. On one square, Docile had written, “Samuel?” with a drawing of a dark moon and a whip and a sad face. Others read “Jesus ceremony,” “Calm Sunday,” “Choir Practice,” “Good Friday For Coffee,” “Eww, Horses,” “All Complaints Day,” “Three Wing’s Day,” “Cash Wednesday!”, “Lent Rent Pay Day,” “All Sols Day,” and “Symphony.” In several squares, Docile had written “Have Them Talk.” That was circled in red on the current date. The calendar had a picture of Docile and his friend Veronica together at the beach.

Docile wasn’t having much luck in getting “them to talk,” a.k.a. Tirred and Timmid. They were still sour after their breakup at Camael’s Corner in the Chasity Halo.

Tirred and Timmid were sitting on separate couches, arms crossed.

“Now guys,” Docile said nervously. “You know that both of you still have to work with me to save lives…”

The elves glared at each other.

“I brought you two here for a reason. We need to solve this dilemma so we can move forward. Let’s take turns telling each other’s sides of the story,” Docile said. “Who would like to go…?”

“I will,” Tirred grumbled.

“You didn’t even let our boss finish!” Timmid piped up.

“Who cares? I’d like to apologize and get it over with.”

“You’re gonna need to do more than apologize for spreading that nasty rumor about Docile!” she said.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? You let yourself be punished by Samael?”

“Yes, but there was no other choice,” Docile said. “His Bible is what allows us to get into the human world. The only reason why I haven’t fired you is that I’m giving you one more chance to prove yourself.”

“How so?”

“By not spreading any more rumors. By being nicer to your ex-girlfriend and co-workers. By…going on one more mission with us.”

Tirred smirked. “You’re always gonna keep me, aren’t you? You need me as a healer and fighter.”

“Well, I…I could always replace you!” Docile mentioned.

Tirred growled. “Replace me?! With whom?”

Purring came from the doorway.

Tirred fumed when Sunna skipped into the room. She wore white pants, a sky -blue blouse and little blue gems on her long brown braids. Her eyes were round and sky blue, her furry brown cat face lit up.

“Wha…no, not…not her! Are you joking?”

“Uh…” Docile looked over to Timmid who gave a thumbs up.

“No, mister!” Docile spat. “I’m not! It’s time for some tough love. Sunna’s a fantastic healer…her purrs are enough!”

“She’s a ditzy hippie and high on catnip,” Tirred scoffed.

“Go…back to your desk!”

“Urgh!” Tirred yelled as he stomped off.

Sunna swayed with a mystic air as she sang,

“All souls come from the land of love

The land of love, the land of love,

All around us and above

All souls come from the land of love”

“Before time, a realm sublime

God made us all divine

Sent us down to explore

To create and love and do it more”

“Make friends, make amends

Our journey never ends

We do what we will

And we’re all loved still

All loved still, all loved still”

“Success to enjoy, errors to solve

God is change, we all evolve

We are harmony, we are one

All shall return when our lives are done”

“All souls come from the land of love

The land of love, the land of love,

All around us and above

All souls come from the land of love!”

Sunna sat happily at her desk as the three elves sat with open stunned mouths.

“She’s getting worse,” called Tirred, making a crazy “coo-coo” sign.

“You know, sir,” said Timmid. “Adding someone new might be the right thing to do. It’s not good for business with customers that depend on us saving lives for them to have a…”

She raised her voice, “…selfish, inconsiderate bratty sadist in our office!”

Tirred seethed. “That does it!”

Timmid and Tirred stomped toward each other, Docile getting ready to separate them.

“Oh look, you have a visitor!” Sunna called to Docile, pointing to the doorway. The elves paused.

Walking through a golden portal was none other than Quartet. She froze as the portal closed behind her.

The elves turned to look in silence.

“Um…hello,” Quartet said nervously. “I don’t think this is where the ceremony is.”

“Are you…Menadel’s daughter?” Docile asked.

Quartet stepped back. “Please don’t mention to him that I’m here! Sorry to bother you guys, I gotta go.”

She looked at her Bible pages, waved her hand again and another portal appeared. Her eyes turned white and gold energy swirled all around her. The elves stepped back and covered their eyes. Sunna looked on in curiosity.

‘Please let it be right this time,’ she thought.

“Wait,” Docile called, arm outstretched, “Maybe we should call…”

Quartet vanished and the portal closed.

“…Azrael…he’s not gonna like this,” Docile finished.

Docile grabbed Sunna’s fish-shaped rotary phone.

“Hello…Lord Azrael? Your adopted daughter just took a Bible and teleported to heaven’s knows where. We’ll find her as soon as we can, but we’ll need some help. Okay, bye.”

Seconds later, the office door opened by itself. There stood Lord Azrael, scythe and all. He was not happy.

“How did this happen?” he asked as he ducked under the short doorway. “She was supposed to stay at Menadel’s.”

“She just appeared in our office holding a Bible out of nowhere,” said Timmid. “Said she was going to a ceremony.”

“Hold that thought,” said Lord Azrael. He vanished into black flames and headed to the ceremony. Minutes later, he teleported right back, looking concerned.

“She’s not there,” he said. “She’s not back at the mansion either. Where could she have gone?!”

Sunna padded over and sniffed the air. “N.Y.”

“Huh?” asked Tirred.

Everyone looked at her.

“What?” she asked. “I have a good nose.”

“N.Y. Wait…New York?!” Azrael suddenly cried. “That’s in the mortal world! She could be in danger!”

“What are we waiting for then?” asked Docile. “Let’s go find her!”

“Disguises first,” mentioned Azrael. He chanted something and waved his hand. Teal light enveloped everyone in the room, and they floated into the air. After several flashes of light, they appeared standing on the ground in their new human disguises.

Azrael appeared as a tall man with thick long black hair, a black goatee, sullen eyes and wearing a fancy all-black suit. He wore a skull ring on one of his pale fingers.

“Hello, Grimm Reaper,” Docile remarked as he stared at his form. He wore his usual uniform but now had white skin and short black hair and blue eyes. Tirred had white skin, thin black hair and darker eyes. Timmid had slightly messy white hair and blue eyes. Sunna, now an African American woman, admired her beautiful dreadlocks and brown cat-like eyes.

Azrael opened a portal and the group walked through. The portal closed behind them.

“Whoa,” the disguised elves said as they stared at the high towering skyscraper buildings around them. The Statue of Liberty stood radiant in the distance as people went on boat tours. The usual crowds of people were heading off toward Times Square for work, music, and shopping. Cars honked and yellow taxis maneuvered through the busy streets. Several gift shops were selling “Big Apple” and “I Love New Yok” shirts.

“The city that never sleeps,” Docile said. “Entertainment, everyone always moving and moving. Not so much different from Heaven.”

Timmid flinched at several thugs smoking and spitting in nearby alleyways. “Except for all the bad stuff.”

“And the misspelled signs,” Tirred grumbled, observing the “Welcome to New Yok!” signs everywhere.

“Sunna, sniff,” Docile said with a smile, marching forward.

Sunna intently sniffed a bag of catnip she had brought with her. She opened it and poured bits of it onto her tongue. Her eyes darted and her smile was one of bliss. A purr rumbled in her throat. The other E.L.F. members gave her sideways looks.

“Not that smelling!” Docile glared.

“Oh, right,” she said, pocketing the bag. “I still can’t smell anything in this city.”

“Can’t you do anything right?” Tirred spat.

“Can’t you be anything other than a nuisance?” she retorted. Timmid snickered.

“The next person I hear arguing will get a reduction in pay,” Docile warned. “Let’s go.”

The group walked by hot dog stands and men playing guitars on the ground. They visited “Rockiseller Center” where a beautiful Christmas tree was on display. Many people were laughing and ice skating around in circles. Holiday music played from the speakers.

“Christmas in July?” Timmid wondered. “I’ll take it.”

Timmid looked around and spotted a guy selling art. “Oh cool!” she said.

“Get some art over here!” called the bearded man. There were pastel oil paintings of dolphins and sunsets. There were keychains of the Statue of Liberty, Oscar award statues, palm trees, and a cartoon smiling glasses-wearing Vivziepop with blond hair and pink highlights in it.

Tirred rolled his eyes. “We’re on a mission, remember? That stuff is rubbish.”

“No, Tirred! I’m buying these!” she said in excitement. She handed the man some dollar bills and took several art and keychains with her.

“I’m a star at the Oscars,” she sang, pretending to use the Oscar keychain as a microphone.

Tirred rolled his eyes again and mentioned ahead of him. “Thanks to you, we just lost the group.”

“You’re no fun,” she said. “Let’s go find them.”

0 0 0

“Hey guys!” Docile called. “Check out this crazy costume!”

Azrael and Sunna snickered at Docile’s outfit. He wore a black jacket, a fake red pointed tail and fake stripped horns on his head. His mask over his face was an imp face painted red and white with fake sharp yellow teeth.

“This outta scare the pants off of any thugs around!”

A nearby woman screamed in happiness.

“Oh my gosh, everyone! Look! It’s New Yok’s Star, Blitzo!”

Docile glared. “What the buck is a Blitz…oh.”

In his costume, Docile glanced up at a billboard. An ad was displayed, showing a menacing imp with a pistol and an open-mouthed grin. Flames were in the background and the imp was riding on a brown horse. The title read in black, “HORSING AROUND: HOW TO GET AWAY WITH MURDER! ™”

Docile was soon surrounded by a large crowd, lifting him up. “Help!” he cried as fans screamed and cheered around him.

“I’ll handle this,” Azrael grumbled.

“No killing!” Docile cried to him.

Crew members and guards held the crowd back as a white van pulled up. A director with black hair and a black beard was eating a granola bar.

“Blitz!” the director called, flanked by towering agents. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! You were supposed to be on set five minutes ago!”

Docile took one look at the director’s upside-down pentagram necklace and flinched. “No way! I’m not going with you!”

“Very funny,” he said. “Now get in the car.”

“No, put me down!” he cried as one of the muscular agents picked him up. One of his fake horns fell off and several fans fought over it. A boy tore off his shirt and his chest read “I LUV HB!”

“I’m Blitz’s…agent,” Azrael mentioned. “And I demand you…”

Azrael was also picked up and both were tossed into the back.

“Sunna! Find Quartet!” Docile called. Sunna nodded and leaped over the crowd.

Docile leaped forward, but the doors closed in front of him.

Before long, they were both dragged into the studio. Makeup artists began working on Docile.

“Let’s get him ready! He’s on in five!” called the producer.

“Five what? I can’t be on a sitcom!” Docile cried to no avail.

Docile was soon ready and standing next to Azrael.

“Alright, you’re on in 10…9…”

The producer vanished through the curtains.

“Why am I doing this? I can’t be on stage!”

“Just blend in so we can find Quartet,” said Azrael, pushing him gently forward. “Good luck.”

“And action!” called the director as the lights came on. Guitar theme music played, and the red curtains opened.

Docile was on a stage that looked horrible. It appeared to look like a desert with cactus plants and fake dead bodies near his feet. There was an animatronic brown horse off to the side with one eye missing.

An actor with a demon mask was pretending to groan in pain. “Oh…Blitzo you horrible scum imp…you have any last mocking words?”

Docile froze on the spot. Sweating.

“Say something,” whispered Azrael as a teleprompter appeared.

Docile then read his lines half-heartedly. “Oh yeah, uh…no, the ‘o’ is silent you…fucking…asshole.”

After a moment, the audience laughed as screens overhead displayed “LAUGH” in green. Azrael laughed under his breath.

Docile improvised. “B-but don’t worry…God will take you where you need to be, away from your suffering so you can repent for your sins!”

After an awkward pause, the screens prompted the audience to laugh again, so they did.

Soon enough after half an hour, the audience began to get bored with the show.

“Oh, Kniffty,” said Docile, holding up a one-eyed black cat animatronic and reciting his lines. “You’ve done it again! You’ve cleaned up every mouse in this here Hell hotel! Very nifty of you to do so!”

The audience laughed half-heartedly. The cat animatronic let out a meow. “It’s nice to meet you! I’ve always wanted to make new friends!”

“Me too, kitty!” Docile said with a smile. “In fact, it is time I give you a new home. Find someone to take good care of you!”

“We could take care of her,” said an actor dressed like a tall red man with antlers. He was followed by people dressed in black. “I always can provide a smile for those in need!”

Docile stared at the kitty animatronic…and a flashback came to him.

0 0 0

Back in Heaven, he was at a “HeavenCat Adoption Center.” There were kitty condos and fenced in yards for them to play in. Docile stared at a humanoid black cat girl with angel wings that looked like the animatronic. She only had one eye. Her furry siblings smiled at him from inside a box.

“They’re all so cute. And so…content. But…lonely.”

“Maybe you could adopt this one here,” said a fat cheetah lady, pointing to another open-window condo. “Long-lived, lanky and very low maintenance.”

Docile peered into the adjacent condo and spotted a hairless pink cat with bent whiskers and a fish bone in its mouth.

“Uh, no thanks,” Docile said. “Someone more family friendly?”

“No problem.” said the cheetah lady. “We have a nice selection of other felines.”

“Who’s that?” Docile asked, pointing to another condo.

“Oh her?” asked the cheetah. “That’s Sunna. What a crazy little thing.”

Sunna was bouncing up and down and playing with a live mouse, much to the distaste of the quiet cats.

“Serious hyperactive qualities. I hate to say it, but once she turns eighteen next month, she’ll be off on her own,” the cheetah mentioned. “We have food stamps and shelters though, so hopefully it won’t be too bad. Menial work is just as important, so…as long as she behaves, she won’t go homeless…”

Docile freaked out at the word “homeless.” He adopted her on the spot.

0 0 0

“No, no, no, no,” he said, back in the present. “You can’t have her. She’s my kitty and I love her!”

“The audience went “AWWW” as the signs flashed the message.

“Alright, Blitzo,” said an actress with a cigarette in her mouth. “Let’s finish up this show so Hell can get more ratings and sinners…”

She grabbed the animatronic but Docile held on tight.

“Let go of her!” he cried. He cradled the cat in his arms. He tossed off his mask, tail, horns, and costume, leaving his regular clothes on. The audience gasped as his human disguise fell away as well.

“Ahh!” a kid in the audience cried. “It’s a booger elf!”

Docile narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

The animatronic cat scampered out of his arms.

“Wait, come back!” he cried.

The crew and producers tried to grab him, but Docile sent them back with light blasts from his scepter. Azrael shoved more people aside and grabbed hold of Docile. “Let’s go find our daughters.”

The animatronic cat laughed evilly and with a paw swipe, cut one of the wires near the curtain. The prompting screens changed from “LAUGH” TO “AWW” to “FUCK,” in red.

To Docile’s horror, everyone in the audience stripped off their clothes and pounced on anyone nearby. Moans and groans and the sticky scents of semen and sweat filled the space.

It was pure chaos!

“I think I’m gonna barf,” Docile groaned as Azrael carried him outside the door into the blissful fresh air.

Docile jumped out of Azrael’s arms and hurled onto the pavement. He accidentally slammed the end of his scepter down onto the street.

The studio building erupted in a set of flames and explosions.

Docile and Azrael stared at the burning building in disbelief. After making the sign of the cross over their chests, Docile and Azrael hurried on.

0 0 0

Quartet looked around at the vast city she now found herself in.

“Where am I?”

“Hello!” called a man dressed like a duck. “Great costume!”

“Uh…thanks?” Quartet blinked, before brushing herself off and following the crowd of people.

“Excuse me?” she asked, several people who ignored her and walked on by. “Can anyone tell me where to find Jesus?”

“In Heaven, sinner,” replied a gruff old man who bumped into her on purpose. “The unworthy have no hope of seeing him.”

Quartet asked around some more. “Where can I find Jesus?”

“In your heart, of course,” said a blonde woman wearing a Christian Cross necklace and a red shirt.

“Where can I find Jesus?”

“He will come on the final days of Earth,” said an elderly woman. “He’ll save us all…I hope. Just be patient.”

“Where can I find Jesus?”

“Jesus? He ain’t real, bitch,” said a black guy. “Get your religious propaganda out of my space!”

“Where…can I…find…Jesus…” asked a tired Quartet.

“He’s over at this church of Latter-Day Saints,” said a red-haired man. “They do sermons every morning.” He handed her a church pamphlet.

“Thank you!” Octavia called. She raced over toward the church building and sat on a bench. A child next to her gave her a weird look.

“Don’t stare at the creepy bird lady,” said the child’s mother, pulling her child closer to her.

The sermon and lecture went on and on…but still no sign of Jesus.

Thoughts raced through Quartet’s mind as the pastor talked and talked.

“What kind of sermon is this? No music, no standing and clapping. No loud and proud ‘Praise Jesus!’ and harp playing like in Heaven! This is church, not a high school lecture! You humans are so boring.”

“Ugh, talking about funds for the church again? Don’t you people realize there are hundreds of starving and homeless humans out there? You have plenty of money…use it!”

“I already know my Bible verses and history. You don’t need to repeat the same thing three times.”

“Enough with the talks about Hell! Positivity is what makes people want to get closer to God. God is perfect and good; thus He should not be feared! No, don’t you dare teach children under five about Hell…heck teens can get traumatized by that shit.”

“Whoa…did I just swear in my head? Without it being censored? I guess it only gets censored in Heaven.”

“Politics again. Abortion is bad? No gays here? Modern up, Christianity…Jesus accepts everyone!”

“You keep saying ‘Jesus will come!’ Well, where is He? I’ve been sitting on my feathery bum for hours…”

Quartet covered her mouth as everyone glared at her. She had accidentally said her last thought aloud.

She spoke nervously. “Heh, heh. May the Lord be with you, amen.”

Quartet scurried out of the church, groaning in frustration.

She continued walking until she spotted Altar-P, a Christian-themed clothing store. There was a beautiful art print of a swan resting in a golden fountain. A cross stood in the background on a hill as golden rays of the sun lit up the whole area.

Quartet admired the art and took a selfie. She posted on Gracebook, Heaven’s version of Facebook:

“Found this amazing art print in the window of Altar-P. Whoever made this masterpiece rocks! #earththings.”

The locations on her phone were Earth, Chasity Halo, Patience Halo, Humility Halo, Kindness/Loyalty Halo, Charity Halo, Temperance Halo, and Diligence Halo.

About half an hour after Quartet left, Sunna spotted the swan art print. She happily took a selfie and posted her picture on Gracebook:

“What a beautiful piece of art! You never know what you’ll find in the mortal world! #earththings.”

Sunna scrolled through the posts on her phone. Her username was “Sunlightpurring777.” Her “friends” were Veronica, Portal99, and Cool Cat. When she saw an identical post from Quartet, she gasped. She looked at Quartet’s profile. “Tet,” “Happy,” “Lover of Life” were her profile descriptions with angel emojis. She had 77 followers and followed 256 profiles.

Sunna noticed Quartet posing in front of a mansion that looked like a castle with towers. She headed over to it, but Quartet wasn’t there.

She traveled all over “New Yok,” looking at Quartet’s posts, trying to figure out where she was. She read Quartet’s posts and traveled to the various places.

“So, this is the Statue of Liberty! Wonder why it’s so green? #earththings.”

“It’s Christmas in July! Saw some beautiful lights and Christmas trees on display. Went ice-skating today, tried to do a spin…gotta see if I can magically heal my bruised knees. #funearththings.”

Sunna thought she saw Quartet ice-skating. She carefully went onto the ice but let out a cat-like yowl as she stumbled and waved her arms. “Whaaaa!” She slid on the ice on her belly…seeing the figure as just a teen girl with a wig and large glasses.

Sunna laughed nervously and got up on shaking legs. She had forgotten that she briefly didn’t have her supportive cat claws anymore.

Another post from Quartet:

“Why is New Yok called the Big Apple? I don’t see any apples around…save for that rotten one that guy is holding over there. #grossearththings.”

Sunna hissed at a hobo-man who had tried to snatch her catnip.

“What a weirdo,” several people muttered at Sunna.

Sunna spotted a Bastet figure on display at another store. She was tempted to buy it…until she spotted a smiling Jesus figure with sunglasses near it. Knowing she could only honor one, she decided to skip it. She tossed several coins and dollar bills into a homeless man’s cup. He promptly used the money to buy cheap beer.

Quartet’s next post:

“The people who destroyed the Twin Towers are probably sulking around as demons in Hell. Nice memorial wall, though. #sadearththings.”

A picture of a tired Quartet sitting on a bench:

“This city could use a proper clean-up and noise cancellation. Lots of crime, too. This world NEEDS Jesus, y’all! #whyearththings.”

Several dogs on leash barked loudly at Sunna, causing her to jump in fear. “Ahh! Stay away!” she hissed.

“Scaredy cat! Or should I say, scaredy bitch!” several men laughed as Sunna darted away from the growling dogs, her hairs on end.

Sunna was panting in exhaustion by the time the sun had set. Under an indigo sky was a golden church with a water fountain in front of it. The fountain had a spinning globe in the center, supported by two statue hands. She raced toward the church and turned a corner. Sunna arrived at a curved flight of stairs.

Sunna glanced at Quartet’s final post:

“Apparently, Jesus is supposed to make an appearance at this gold church, where he will come down and do His speech. Don’t want to use my Bible and accidentally travel to somewhere else unknown again. As a resident of Heaven, He should be able to see me.”

Sunna looked at the church in the background of Quartet’s picture…and it was the same one!

Just then, Sunna spotted a figure at the top of the stairs in a prayer position. The moonlight highlighted a familiar figure with feathery hair!

Quartet!

Sunna sighed with relief and transformed back into her normal cat form.

“Hey,” said Sunna, walking up the stairs.

Quartet turned around, tears in her eyes. “Hey. How did you find me?”

Quartet stood up as Sunna walked over.

“Your Gracebook,” Sunna replied with a smile. She held up her phone and scrolled through the church pictures. “Nice pics by the way.”

“Oh, thanks,” Quartet sniffled.

“Are you okay?” Sunna asked.

Quartet sat on the ledge as Sunna did the same. Quartet’s Bible and bag were next to her. “I can’t believe I was so stupid! I’ve been wandering all over New Yok City to find Jesus! I thought that I could find a spot where it’d be easier for Him to travel down to Earth. Now I’ve probably missed that fancy ceremony! And all I have now is this…smog-filled busy city!”

“Well, it’s not that bad,” Sunna replied. “It may not be like Heaven, but it’s unique in its own light. I mean,” Sunna shrugged, “It was kind of fun exploring around outside of home for the first time.”

“Yeah…you’re right,” said Quartet. “Oh, my dad’s gonna kill me!”

“Um…which one?” Sunna asked.

“Menadel for sure,” Quartet grumbled. “I’ll probably have to repent for my sins and stay grounded for a century! And…”

Quartet sniffed again.

“What?”

“My other dad…Azrael…he’s so busy with work like Menadel, he doesn’t even care! I’ve waited for years to go to this ceremony, but now I won’t get to go with dad and mom.”

Sunna put a comforting paw on her shoulder. “Let me tell you something. Azrael may be busy a lot, but he is very worried about you. He’s here.”

“Here?”

“Looking for you right now,” Sunna mentioned. “Your mom probably is wondering where you are as well.”

“Urgh, now I feel so bad,” Quartet sighed.

“We all make mistakes, it’s okay,” said Sunna. “Azrael, Flora…and yes even Menadel…they may not always get it right when it comes to parenting. But I assure you…all of them are trying.”

“Y-you sure?”

“I know it,” Sunna said. “Divorce…meeting Heaven’s rules and expectations…not always easy at all. But love always wins in the end. You know my song?”

Quartet shook her head.

Sunna’s eyes lit up and she sang a slower softer version of her previous song:

“All souls come from the land of love

The land of love, the land of love,

All around us and above,

All souls come from the land of love.”

Quartet’s eyes lit up as she heard the glorious sound of a choir from inside the church. The vocals supported the rest of Sunna’s song. Quartet leaned in for a hug and was further comforted by Sunna’s purrs. Her eyes closed.

“When you feel like the world breaks

Know that God forgives all mistakes

There is always love around you

Your soul family has found you

Let the loving universe guide you

to the truth that’s always inside you

The souls and stars are your friends

In a sea of love that never ends

That never ends.”

The girls hugged for a while, then separated.

“Thank you, Sunna, that was beautiful,” Quartet sniffed. Sunna felt like a comforting sister.

Sunna held out a paw and Quartet took it. “You ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s get you home,” smiled Sunna.

Both of them opened the portal together, appearing in Central Park.

Docile gasped in happiness. “Sunna!”

Sunna and Quartet walked through, hand in hand before it closed behind them.

“Oh Dad!” Sunna raced over and hugged Docile. “Thank goodness you’re alright.”

From the shadows, a gang member pointed a gun at the turned heads of Sunna and Docile…

Slash!

Azrael waved his scythe in an uppercut motion. With a scream, the gangster’s body tore in two and the two halves landed in a gory thud onto the grass.

He turned around, making his bloody scythe vanish.

“Quartet!” Azrael exclaimed.

Quartet lowered her head. “Hey, dad.”

Azrael pulled her into a hug. “Your mother and I were so worried about you!”

“I’m so sorry,” said Quartet.

“Why did you run away from Menadel’s? You know he was counting on you to be at the ceremony. And you know I haven’t taught you spells like that yet.”

“I didn’t want to go with him! I wanted to go with you and mom! I tried traveling to the ceremony but…heh…it didn’t seem to work out…”

“Yeshua’s Gist! Oh, Quartet I’m so sorry…I thought that you going with Menadel was the right thing to do…since…he’s your real dad…”

Quartet hugged him again. “You’re my real dad! I’m just glad you’re here!”

They stood and hugged, tears in their eyes.

Just then, under the moonlight, a man dressed like Jesus was surrounded by a crowd. He had a guitar in his hands and was singing “New Yok.” A bold “I’m J#1!” tag was on his chest along with a red apple sticker. A band sign read “Jesus and the Three Kings”, with a drummer, a keyboardist and a bassist playing beside him with crowns on their heads.

Several fireworks shot into the sky.

“If I can make it there, I’m gonna make it anywhere, it’s up to you! New Yok! New Yok!” he sang.

The crowd clapped and sang and danced along. Soon, Quartet and Azrael found themselves dancing to the music.

“It’s Jesus!” Quartet smiled in amazement at the guitar-playing saint. “It’s a miracle! I can’t believe He had time to come down to Earth for a visit!”

Azrael chuckled with a bit of an eye roll. “Still want to ask him about your future?”

“You know what? I’m happy knowing about the now,” Quartet said, staring into her dad’s eyes with love.

Sunna and Docile smiled happy tears and danced as well. Docile did a mental count and froze.

“Hey, where are T and T?”

0 0 0

Meanwhile in an alley, Tirred tapped his foot impatiently in front of the portal. Timmid was dragging a heavy bag full of CDs, art, Oscar statues, medals, trophies, and the like.

“Art is heavy,” she grunted.

“March, miss!” Tirred spat.

His eyes then went wide as he spotted a shadow figure point a gun at an oblivious Timmid. It appeared to be a gang member. From his scepter, Tirred fired a bolt of light at the figure and the figure dropped dead. More angry footsteps were approaching. Timmid looked around. “What was that Tirred?”

Tirred grabbed Timmid and carried her through the portal. She cried for her merchandise, but the portal closed.

0 0 0

Menadel tapped his foot impatiently. His eyes widened as Jesus gave out future advice to the last person.

“It’s an honor to see you again, sir,” Menadel said. “Perhaps you could grant me your wonderous wisdom?”

Jesus chuckled softly. “Sorry Menadel, but that’s all the time I have. I only get to the people that I feel called to.”

“B-but I’m the most prominent well-respected member of the Shem HaMeporash!”

“There were lots of children who needed my advice more. Even I can’t read everyone!” Jesus responded.

“Please, sir, I am worthy to be read!”

Jesus paused. “Say…it’s a shame your daughter couldn’t be here. I heard she had a great speech planned. Something about “a more inclusive modern Christianity?”

“Um…that’s the wrong script…”

“Is it? Because I think she sent me a draft earlier today.” He held up Quartet’s scroll. “I, for one, am super impressed! She’s truly a tremendous force…born under a great celestial alignment like Octavia from Hell. Here’s hoping she can make Heaven an even better place for all. Anyway, have a good day, Menadel!”

“Wait, sir…!”

He vanished.

Menadel stood in disbelief. He growled and seethed. “Noooooooo!”

#heavenlyboss #2phelluvaboss #2phazbinhotel

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